


Type, Write, Edit

by buffymysavior



Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Newspapers, School Newspaper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2019-08-23 10:58:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 57,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16617659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buffymysavior/pseuds/buffymysavior
Summary: Cyrus Goodman is a news editor on the school's newspaper: The Grant Gazette. TJ Kippen is a basketball player failing math. TJ gets caught cheating on a math test, and in a twist of events, he ends up working with Cyrus on the school newspaper after making a deal with this teacher. What happens when their worlds collide? Will it bring them together for the better or the worse?





	1. Chapter 1

Cyrus sat on the hard floor, palms pressed against the cold tile. His legs were crossed as he arched his back against the cement block wall he was leaning against (he’d been there a while and his body was starting to hurt.) His lunch tray and books sat on either side of him, the only thing in his lap being a copy of _The Grant Gazette_. His fingers were stained with ink from turning the page.

Cyrus was currently selling the school newspaper the way he always did at the end of every month during his lunch period. He was the news editor (yes, _the_ news editor; he was the only one at the moment since no one else wanted the job) for _The Grant Gazette_ . He was _supposed_ to be selling the paper with a bunch of other students from the class (all popular, all uncaring about anything except for how many likes they got on their most recent Instagram post), but they’d all either forgotten or hadn’t cared enough to follow through. “Buy a newspaper,” Cyrus said lamely to the passing students in the hallway, helplessly waving his copy in the air to get their attention. They scuttled past him without looking up, going to the restroom or the gym or wherever they were heading off to. Cyrus sighed—it came out more like a whine—as someone scooted his belongings out of the way and plopped down next to him.

He glanced over to see Andi, and though he’d only seen her twenty minutes ago when he’d gotten his lunch, she was a sight for sore eyes. “Hey, Cyrus,” she smiled, “how’s the newspaper selling coming along?”

Another person sat down next to him, dropping Cyrus’s lunch tray in his lap and making him grunt. Buffy. “Not good,” he sighed unhappily, looking between them both. “No one else showed up to sell with me like they were supposed to _and_ no one’s buying the paper. I feel like a homeless man begging for coins,” he sighed again, chin resting in his palm.

Buffy laughed at that, snatching a copy of the newspaper from the stack on the floor. “It’s really going _that_ badly?” she asked, eyes scanning the front page. That was one of Cyrus’s pages—the first four pages belonged to news.

“Yes,” he admitted. “ _And_ it’s our first issue of the year. This blows.” It _more_ than blew; the first issue was always one of the biggest of the entire year. It included everything—information about new teachers, back-to-school events, clubs and extracurriculars, sports, everything that happened over summer. It was always one of Cyrus’s favorite issues, too—it meant getting back into the rhythm of things. It meant he could breathe again.

See, Cyrus wasn’t good at a lot of things. Well, it was more that he was _afraid_ to try new things, so he declared he was bad at them and gave up before he even started. But journalism—that _was_ something he was good at, something that wasn’t too scary for him to give up on. He loved coming back to school and being reminded that he was good for something.

Buffy pulled something from her pocket—a couple of dollar bills. “Here,” she said, rolling her eyes as she dropped the money into his change cup. “Now me, Andi, Walker, and Jonah can all have our own copy.”

His eyes widened happily; his friends really were too good to him. “You didn’t have to do that, Buffy.”

She laughed again—almost a snort, really—before rolling her eyes for a second time.“Of _course_ I did. If I hadn’t, you’d be moping around all day no matter how many baby taters we bought you. Besides, I’m _sure_ this is your best one yet since you made a fourth of it.”

Cyrus smiled, and not _just_ because he finally sold a few newspapers. “Thanks, Buffy. I’m glad _someone_ cares since no one else seems to,” he said, moving his hand from his lap to the stack of newspapers. He counted them out—one, two, three—before giving two to Buffy for Jonah and Walker and one to Andi.

“Don’t worry, Cyrus,” Andi said, giving him a reassuring look and a comforting bump of the shoulder. “There’s always tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll sell more then.”

He pushed back the disappointment in his chest to give her a smile back. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he said. At least, he _hoped_ she was. He _liked_ being on the newspaper staff; he liked it when people saw all of his hard work and appreciated the fact that he’d dug a little deeper to get the news. That hardly ever happened, though; most people didn’t give the paper more than a glance before shrugging and tossing it in the recycling bin, before tossing all his hard work down the drain to be repurposed into something else.

The bell rang a few seconds later, signalling the end of their lunch period. “Here, I’ll take your lunch tray,” Andi offered, taking it from his lap. “You _clearly_ have enough on your hands.”

Cyrus looked at the clutter surrounding him. Somehow, he was expected to carry his books, the stack of newspapers he was selling, _and_ the money he’d earned all in one trip. He filled with dread as he remembered he had to do so in the few minute passing period he had. “Thanks, Andi, you’re a lifesaver,” he said gratefully. He waved goodbye at them as he bent down to pick up his belongings, feeling like a human game of Jenga as he tried to balance everything in his arms without it all toppling to the ground.

Slowly but surely, Cyrus made his way to Mr. Spier’s room. Mr. Spier was somehow the math teacher _and_ the journalism teacher at Grant High School—an odd combination that Cyrus had never dared to ask about in his three years of being on the newspaper staff. “Hey, Cyrus,” Mr. Spier greeted the boy as he stepped in the room, clumsily dumping the stack of newspapers and change cup on an empty desk. This detail didn’t seem to deter his teacher in the slightest, though—his eyes were gleaming the way they always did, like the center of his eyes were lightbulbs and not pupils. Cyrus appreciated that about him, his ability to somehow maintain constantly optimistic despite having to teach obnoxious high schoolers all day long. “Sell anything?” he questioned, lips tilting up in the slightest.

If Cyrus still didn’t have his arms full with books, he’d be wringing his hands nervously. He _hated_ disappointing Mr. Spier, even after knowing him for three years. “Not great,” Cyrus admitted, lips dipping into a small frown. He didn’t bother telling him that his classmates ditched him last second—he really didn’t want to make enemies with any of them, especially in a class he loved as much as this one. “I swear, I tried to, but everyone just kept ignoring me!”

Mr. Spier nodded, face a mixture of understanding and sympathy. His eyes were still bright, though, which was always a good sign. It meant he wasn’t upset, that this wasn’t a big deal. “There’s always tomorrow,” he offered, giving Cyrus a pat on the shoulder. The gesture made relief warm in Cyrus’s chest, the worry that had resided there a few seconds ago vanishing completely. “Thanks so much for your help, Cyrus. Your work so far is already even more promising than last year’s. I guess the summer gave you some new ideas, huh?”

The sudden praise made Cyrus’s frown upturn in a crescent moon smile. “It must’ve,” he said in excitement, feeling a swell of pride bloom in his chest. The warning bell rang, making him snap out of his daze. “I better get to class, but I’ll see you seventh period, Mr. Spier!” Cyrus called after him. Mr. Spier gave him an appreciative nod as he made his way to class, a pleased smile on his face from the compliments on his news pages. He felt hopeful that maybe his hard work would _finally_ pay off this year.

Cyrus loved being a news editor—he had ever since the end of freshman year when Mr. Spier asked him if he’d be interested in the position. To be on the newspaper staff, you had to fill out a form with two teacher recommendations after your first year of basic journalism. But Mr. Spier had approached him personally to ask him to be a news editor, which was an honor in itself. Most of the freshmen in the class were writers for different sections—none of them were editors except for Cyrus. He’d been so delighted when he was offered the position that he’d accepted it right on the spot. That was his first sign that this was something he was good at, something that stuck. Something he could really be proud of.

Sophomore year, he worked with the only other news editor on the staff—Sophie. She was a senior who was only taking the class to get her fine arts credits—Cyrus didn’t remember much about her besides the nasty habit she had for chewing on her fingernails and snapping her gum. (Not at the same time, of course. What a disturbing sight that would’ve been for young Cyrus Goodman.) She didn’t really care too much about the work—she spent more time popping bubbles with her gum than she did designing her pages or writing her stories. That was how Cyrus got the front pages and she’d been bumped to the back-half. He put more time and effort into everything he did—stories, designs, pictures—and it showed. That was when he knew for _sure_ he was good, that it was more than just wishful thinking. So, towards the end of the year, he checkmarked the box that read “news editor” on his staff applications, and sure enough, he’d gotten the job for another year.

Unfortunately, it was junior year now, and Cyrus was the only news editor on the staff. Mr. Spier hadn’t found a replacement—the newspaper department at Grant was severely lacking and it wasn’t like people were _begging_ to sign up for journalism when most information was now at the touch of the fingertips—so it was just him. Cyrus was fine with that, for the most part, anyway. He liked being in charge of this small thing, liked being the behind-the-scenes action. Sure, he didn’t have as much time to work on his pages now that his workload doubled—being responsible for four pages was _a lot_ to juggle for one person, not to mention all the story assignments, pictures, editing, and writing that was involved...but he didn’t mind. Preferred it, even. It was easier than bothering someone else with his questions and problems. If he needed help, he always just asked Mr. Spier—he knew better than everyone else did, anyway, especially since he used to be the Editor-in-Chief at Grant when he’d gone to school.

_Editor-in-chief._ That was the word he kept coming back to. Because, _yes_ , he loved his job as news editor—but he kept thinking beyond that. Beyond just being in charge of himself.

The editor-in-chief was basically the showrunner—the director. They supervised the entire publication, they were in charge of the _whole_ operation. And it wasn’t that Cyrus was power hungry (if anything, it was the opposite—being responsible for an entire group of people was terrifying, so far out of his comfort zone that it was basically in a zone of its own) but he still wanted it. If only he wasn’t so scared, so worried of every possible risk or problem…

He shook his head. There was no use talking himself in circles like this—it was pointless. None of it would matter until he got those end-of-year staff applications, until he finally either checked the box that said “editor-in-chief” or didn’t. Or until he got a staff list back, stating his position for the following school year. None of it mattered until Mr. Spier closed the curtains on this year.

Cyrus’s eyes found the clock hanging in the middle of the hallway; if he didn’t keep moving he’d be late for fifth period Chemistry. And with that final, waning thought, he disappeared into the science classroom, trying and failing to check his thoughts at the door.

* * *

TJ stared down at his math quiz. _Quiz_ wasn’t really the right word, though that’s exactly what Mr. Spier had called it when he’d passed the papers out. It was really more like a Rosetta Stone of math equations. It was almost like he was looking at a paper that was written in another language, one he knew vaguely but couldn’t quite grasp. Like it was almost on the tip of his tongue, but he could never quite figure it out.

Sighing, he let his eyes wander to the desk on his right. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this all year—and definitely not the first time he’d done it his entire high school career. The girl next to him had “x=4” written on her paper for the first question, so he flitted his eyes back to his own quiz and copied it down. The test wasn’t really that long—ten questions at the most—so it wasn’t that hard to quickly jot down the answers. Two, three, four, five, six questions he had completed (he counted the numbers on his fingers)—that meant he had four questions left to copy. TJ glanced back at the girl’s paper, shifting his head ever-so-slightly, but her elbow was up on the desk now (intentionally or not, he wasn’t sure) and it blocked his view. Silently, he grumbled—how was he supposed to get the answers now? It’s not like _his_ brain could figure them out on its own…

In front of him was a shorter boy who seemed to be almost done with his test. If TJ leaned over his shoulder just enough…

Someone behind TJ cleared his throat, and he immediately froze. Luckily, he didn’t have to move—Mr. Spier moved into his line of sight without so much as a head turn from him. Strangely enough, he didn’t look angry—well, maybe a little. The brightness in his eyes made him look more manic than kind right then, which wasn’t a good sign. “TJ, your test, please?”

His face burned as his eyes scanned the room; almost the entire class had their eyes on him now. TJ handed over his quiz, at least expecting him to rip it up or draw a little red F in the corner (that wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for TJ; he was _used_ to F’s at this point) but he didn’t. Just gave him a tight expression and said, “See me after class.”

TJ’s face hardened into a glare, partially out of anger but mostly out of embarrassment, and he shot everyone that so much as dared to look in his direction a scowl. So much for trying to get his grades up…

The bell rang to dismiss fifth period some several minutes later, but TJ didn’t so much as get up from his seat. He stayed planted, digging his heels into the tile as he waited for all the other students to leave.

After a few seconds, he was finally alone with Mr. Spier, much to his own relief and dismay. He didn’t want him yelling at him for cheating or calling him lazy—because he _wasn’t_. Lazy, that is. He spent hours each night going over his math homework, trying to understand the problems, but it never stuck, never clicked. At this rate, he was too embarrassed to ask for help; he knew he needed a lot more help than the other students in his grade, and it would show if he asked. He’d rather Mr. Spier just assume he was stupid and let him off with the F.

Mr. Spier closed his door—apparently, he had prep sixth period—and stood in front of TJ. Neither of them said anything for the first few seconds, just staring at each other, until TJ finally spoke up. “I’m going to be late for my next class.” That much was true; his next class wasn’t really something he wanted to miss, anyway. He had US History next (something he tended to understand a lot more than whatever math equations Mr. Spier was so intent on throwing him.)

“I’m not sure that’s what you should be worried about,” Mr. Spier said. Not meanly, just matter-of-factly. TJ shrunk back in his seat, trying to act nonchalant about the whole thing even though he was nervously grinding his teeth into a pulp. He’d never been caught cheating before; that’s how good he’d gotten at it (which he wasn’t sure that was something to be proud of, but it was true, nevertheless.) He picked up the test he’d taken from TJ and set it back down on his desk. The paper was freshly scrubbed of answers, eraser marks still lingering on the material from where he’d failed to brush the squigglies away. “So, tell me why you cheated, TJ.” He sat on the desk in front of him, palms resting on his knees. His eyes were much too bright for comfort, the hint of a small smile teasing at his lips and his brown hair gleaming from the fluorescents. Mr. Spier was a younger guy, probably in his early thirties; TJ knew he was considered one of the “cool” teachers though _he_ never saw him that way. He was a math teacher, so naturally, TJ associated him with bad feelings and resentment. It just worked out that way.

The question surprised him, making him tip his eyebrows up just the smallest bit. This wasn’t what he’d been expecting; he thought he’d get yelled at, called stupid and lazy, punished, but hadn’t anticipated him asking _why_. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I don’t know…,” he said. He did know, and Mr. Spier knew it, too. TJ could tell by the manic in his eyes.

“Yes, you do,” his teacher said, only confirming TJ’s fears. “Come on, just tell me. What, you didn’t study? Weren’t paying attention in class? Stayed up too late playing video games?” TJ gave him a hard shake of the head. “Then what is it?”

TJ snapped his eyes up, hard like glass. “I don’t know. I’m just not good at math, all right? Do I really need an explanation for why I cheated? I cheated because I’m stupid. That’s all there is to it.”

Mr. Spier clicked his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head. “TJ, you’re _not_ stupid. I’ve seen your homework assignments. I see you doing the work but not getting the answers right.”

“That’s exactly what I’d call stupid,” TJ muttered under his breath.

He didn’t respond to that, just shaking his head. “Listen to me, you’re _not_ stupid. I can tell you’re trying but just not grasping the concepts, and I can’t fault you for that. Have you tried a tutor?”

TJ almost scoffed. He’d had several tutors, ones his mom had set him up with over the years, but nothing ever stuck. Eventually, they’d all given up, decided that he was beyond their control. He couldn’t blame them; he’d given up on himself, too. The only way he got by anymore was by copying friends’ homework and cheating on tests, and clearly, even _that_ wasn’t cutting it. “They don’t work,” he sighed impatiently. He couldn’t remember how many tables he’d sat at, pencil poised in his fingers as he leaned over a blank piece of paper that he’d erased at so much that the paper had worn thin and torn.

“How so?” Mr. Spier asked.

He glanced down at his test, using the flat of his hand to wipe the eraser marks off the paper. “It just doesn’t...I don’t know, click. It’s like there’s a switch in my brain that _should_ be able to do math but it got switched off.” He didn’t tell him that it felt like he was grabbing at a handful of sand, watching the granules pour out of the sides of his fist like he was close to the answers but not close enough. He didn’t bother mention that it was like reading the same page of a textbook over and over again but not retaining any of the information. It wasn’t like it would matter, anyway; not like it would change anything. People would still think he was stupid, that he was a failure, no matter what he said.

Mr. Spier sighed, not in disappointment or frustration, but sadness. Concern. TJ certainly wasn’t used to that, either; his teachers usually just brushed him aside to be someone else’s problem. “I can’t ignore the fact that you cheated.”

TJ’s jaw tightened; he looked at everything that wasn’t Mr. Spier. He could get suspended from the basketball team for cheating, maybe even benched for the whole season. “I know,” he said, voice solid and cold. It didn’t waver the way it felt like it should’ve.

He let out a sigh again before focusing his eyes on TJ, fingertips drumming against the desk. “I have an idea, but you have to keep an open mind about it.”

TJ arched his eyebrows; open-mindedness definitely wasn’t his strong-suit, but he listened. “Okay.”

“You’re on the basketball team, right?” Spier asked. TJ gave him a simple nod, not sure he liked where this was going. “I’m friends with the coach. Good friends, in fact. I might even be able to convince him not to suspend you for the whole season.”

A ray of hope shot through TJ’s chest, but he shoved it down just as quickly as it appeared. This was a bargain; there was something he had to do in return. “What’s the catch?” he asked.

Mr. Spier gave him a half-smile, still tapping his fingernails against the desk. “Did you know I’m also the journalism teacher here?”

TJ frowned. He hadn’t, first of all, and it was also an odd question to ask. He’d noticed the row of computers in the back row of the classroom, but chalked them up to being for state testing or something. Maybe it was just for his journalism class. “No,” he said.

He shrugged, like this didn’t surprise him. “It’s not very common knowledge, plus the journalism department here is severely underfunded…” He inhaled deeply, like he was thinking. “I have an opening for one of the editor positions—for news, that’s always a difficult position to fill. Not as exciting as entertainment or opinion or feature.” He talked about this like TJ should understand what he was saying; he didn’t, and this whole conversation was only making him more confused than before. “Anyway, if you stand in as my editor, I’ll talk to your basketball coach about only suspending you for a few games. And in the meantime, I’ll talk to the guidance counselor about getting you a specialized tutor. One that knows how to deal with your problem.”

TJ felt dumbfounded. He probably looked that way, too; he was pretty sure his mouth fell open just a little bit, and he quickly closed it. “Why me?” TJ asked once he’d gathered his bearings. “I’m not a writer.”

“Oh, on the contrary,” Spier smiled. “Your English teacher—I’m good friends with her, too, you know—was just bragging to me about you. Told me you got an A plus on the last essay you did.”

TJ felt his cheeks warm. Since when was anything he did besides basketball worth talking about? This was all crazy; there was no way Spier was serious. “Yeah, well, I don’t know the first thing about journalism or being an editor or whatever.”

“Cyrus will teach you everything you need to know, I promise. He’s my other news editor—kind of shy, but he’s really smart. You’d be learning from the very best. All I need is for you to be willing to learn and to show up, okay?”

TJ didn’t speak; he wasn’t really sure what to say. How was he supposed to say no, anyway? He’d been backed into a corner and hadn’t even realized it until he was crouched on the floor. He had everything riding on this: his math grades, basketball. What if this was his only option?

Mr. Spier suddenly picked up the history textbook on TJ’s desk and glanced over it. “You like history?”

This time, TJ couldn’t resist the urge to snort. “Or I just have that class next.” When that earned him a raised eyebrow, he admitted, “It’s my favorite subject.”

He nodded at this, seeming to think. He began to click his fingernails against the hardcover, tap, tap, tapping away in thought. _He must’ve been that annoying kid in school always tapping his pencil on the desk_ , TJ decided as he watched him silently. “You know, TJ, the news is just like our current history.” He said this with a vigor of confidence, like it was the most profound thought in the universe.

TJ rolled his eyes at the desk. “Somehow, I don’t think writing about whatever dance the school is putting on is really history.”

Mr. Spier shrugged, the tapping ceasing as he set TJ’s book back in its rightful place. “Suit yourself,” he said simply, raising his shoulders. Again, he didn’t do this unkindly, more like in an “oh, well” kind of way. “I’m afraid this is your only option, though, so I’d think it over if I were you. Unless you want to be benched for the rest of the season.”

TJ must’ve look conflicted because Mr. Spier added, “Look, it’d only be until I can find a replacement. This wouldn’t be a long-term thing unless you wanted it to be.”

He thought for a moment. About how crazy this whole thing was, about how he didn’t know a single _thing_ about journalism or editing or whatever he would be doing, about how complicated it all sounded and that he’d have to get a specialized tutor for...whatever was wrong with him. But then he thought about all the little red F’s he’d received on previous math tests, the sense of shame he felt whenever copying off a homework assignment or test, the look of disappointment on his mom’s face whenever she saw his report cards. He thought about how he was letting...whatever this was win, and that he had a chance to do better. That he wouldn’t be benched for an entire season of basketball, the one thing he was good at, if he agreed to this. Then he leaned back in his seat, took a long look at Mr. Spier, and let out a sigh. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Mr. Spier didn’t look very surprised, though he did allow his lips curve into a smile. Not a full-blown one, but it was still present. “You’ll do it,” he repeated.

TJ huffed in his seat; even though he was agreeing to do this, he definitely wasn’t happy about it. Not that he could really blame Mr. Spier; he’d been the one cheating, after all. “Yeah. But I promise you, this won’t be a long-term thing.”

This time, Mr. Spier beamed, clearly not able to hide it any longer. “We’ll see about that,” he joked, seemingly ecstatic about this whole ordeal. Great. He had enough happiness to make up for the lack that TJ had for this situation. “What do you have seventh period?”

He thought for a second. It wasn’t even a full month into the school year, after all, and he still hadn’t fully memorized his schedule. “Study hall,” he said after a moment, reciting the words from the mental timetable he had filed away in his brain.

“Great,” he grinned, and by the way he said it, you could tell he really meant it. “I’ll straighten it out with your study hall teacher that you’ll be coming here seventh period, okay?”

TJ nodded absent-mindedly, feeling like he was numb, like he was on auto-pilot. “Great,” Spier said again, eyes bright with excitement more than wildness now. He reached over and plucked a Post-It note off his desk—TJ was pretty close to the front of the room, after all, and how he hadn’t gotten caught cheating before really was a mystery—and wrote TJ a pass for US History.

He took the note and stuck it to the front of his textbook before getting up, turning on his heel to leave. As his hand was on the door knob, he heard Mr. Spier behind him again. “And TJ?” he asked. He glanced back, curious and bored all at the same time. “Thanks. I’m glad we could help each other out.”

“Me too,” was all TJ said as he exited the classroom, stomach turning with nerves. He thumbed the Post-It on his textbook as he made his way to class, wondering hopelessly just _how_ he’d gotten himself into this mess and also wondering just how he’d get out of it.


	2. Chapter 2

It was near the end of sixth period when Cyrus found himself watching the clock.

He _hated_ his sixth period class—Mrs. Ratliff _never_ seemed to stop talking. She was always droning on and on about how technology had ruined this generation and how the slang kids used nowadays was a disgrace to the English language.  Somehow, the fact that his English class was _this_ dreadful made him look even _more_ forward to his seventh period journalism class.

So he watched the clock, eyes only moving from it to jot down notes every time Mrs. Ratliff took a break from complaining about “kids these days.” He groaned when he noticed it had barely moved an inch from the last time he’d glanced at it—this was going to be a _long_ five minutes.

Finally, _finally_ , the clock struck five-past-two, and Cyrus practically leaped out of his seat, then regretted it instantly when his books toppled to the floor. Quickly, (and clumsily, he might add), he picked up his books and tripped over himself to get to the door, even yelling out a “See you tomorrow!” to Mrs. Ratliff in all of his excitement.

He sped down the hallway, weaving in and out of people walking on the wrong side of the wall. Mr. Spier’s classroom was only a few doors down, and soon enough, he was stepping in the empty room. “Just the man I was looking for,” Mr. Spier exclaimed as soon as he was in the door.

Cyrus glanced around the room, making sure that it was empty, making sure that it was _him_ he was talking to. “You were looking for me? What for?” He tried not to get his hopes up, but it was a difficult task to manage. His hopes were like skyscrapers, constantly towering over him (and his own ego, which was six feet under ground.) They were almost impossible to shake once they had risen to the sky, solid and firm on their ground.

“I found you a news editor,” he beamed, eyes shining.

Cyrus’s eyes widened, the hope in his chest stilling. Because, yes, he enjoyed working alone. He hated bothering people with his questions and concerns, especially ones he didn’t _know_ . But also, he had _so_ many questions. Like _how_ ? _When_ ? And most importantly, _who_? A thrill of excitement rose in him again, flaming from head to toe. “Really? Who is it?” he questioned.

Students began filing in the room, mindlessly thumbing through their phones or laughing too loudly with their friends. “You’ll see,” Spier smiled. “He’ll be here any minute. I should warn  you, he’ll need some help getting in the rhythm of things. But I know you’re the person for the job. I told him you’d be helping him adjust, but ask me if you have any questions” he said, giving Cyrus a pat on the shoulder.

Suddenly, he felt nervous; he was going to be _training_ whoever his new editor was, and he really didn’t want to let Mr. Spier down. “I will,” he answered, hoping his voice didn’t squeak. (It tended to do that whenever he was overly-stressed or worried, and this _definitely_ fit that bill.) As Mr. Spier walked back to his desk, Cyrus made his way to his own, sitting at the very end of the back row of computers the way he did everyday. His stomach lurched; he was no longer watching the clock, but now the door as he waited for his new co-editor to arrive.

It was about five minutes later when the door cracked open, and a tall, lanky boy with a wave of dark blonde hair walked in with a stack of books and a hall pass in either hand. He said something to Mr. Spier, something Cyrus couldn’t hear from where he was sitting, and then his eyes found Cyrus’s after doing a quick sweep of the room.

For someone who was supposedly an expert in body language and facial cues, Cyrus couldn’t for the life of him read the expression on the other boy’s face. He’d seen him around before—mostly with the basketball jocks, mostly hanging around the gym and the cafeteria. He was pretty sure they were in the same grade, but that was all he knew about the other boy. (Besides the fact that he was very handsome, a thought that Cyrus balled up in the back of his mind like a crumpled piece of paper and threw away in his mental trash bin.)

Cyrus must’ve blanked out, because after a moment, Mr. Spier and the boy were standing in front of him and he couldn’t remember them moving. “Cyrus, this is TJ Kippen, your new co-editor.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds, awkward silence thick in the air, before Cyrus snapped out of his daze and stuck his hand out for TJ to shake. “Nice to meet you,” he said, managing to smile at the other boy. TJ took his hand lightly, levelling his gaze at him as he did so. The action made Cyrus gulp, his stomach tightening with nerves as he pulled away. TJ seemed...scary? Intimidating? Plus he was a jock, from what he knew about him, and that was enough to send an alarm in Cyrus’s head. Most of the jocks at Grant picked on people like Cyrus, people that were shy and a little nerdy that seemed like easy pickings. Not that TJ had ever done that to him or anyone else, or that he would, but it still made him nervous…

“I’ll leave you boys to it,” Mr. Spier smiled at them, stepping away. “Cyrus, I trust you to teach him everything he needs to know, okay?”

“Okay,” Cyrus said, trying not to sound as meek as he felt. As Mr. Spier made his way back to the front of the room, Cyrus tried to clear his throat to relieve them from some of the tension. Then he felt stupid for clearing his throat. “Here, uh, sit down,” Cyrus suggested, gesturing to the computers. TJ did so silently, sitting at the computer on the very end. Cyrus’s seat. Cyrus decided saying anything was probably stupid and that it wasn’t a big deal, so he sat down on TJ’s left instead and scooted in his chair. “So, what made you join the newspaper staff?” he asked in an attempt to break the ice.

TJ’s face hardened, tension rolling off his body like steam off a hot iron, and he turned away. “None of your business,” he mumbled, voice sounding defensive. The tone of his words made Cyrus shrink back in his seat. Who knew such an innocent question would earn such a negative response?

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you…,” Cyrus trailed off, feeling more and more timid by the second. Why did Mr. Spier think Cyrus could pull this off, anyway? TJ was basically refusing to talk or even be cooperative, and Cyrus wasn’t even sure where to start with all this...

He glanced at their computers, both the screens black. Maybe it would help to actually turn on the monitors. He leaned over and pressed the power buttons on the computers, trying to stay out of TJ’s personal space bubble as he did so.

As he waited for the PC’s to boot up, Cyrus said, “So, um, I guess I should tell you what an editor does.” He let out a nervous chuckle. TJ turned towards him, not quite looking at him but not quite looking _away_ from him either. He decided to continue. “Basically, editors design pages for the newspaper. They also write stories, too, but stories are mostly for writers since that’s pretty much their only job.” TJ scooted his chair up and tilted his head towards Cyrus. That had to be a good sign, right? That he was listening? “Editors are also in charge of the writers in their section and assign them stories. Since we’re the news section, we assign stories to news writers.”

TJ gave the smallest dip of his head, and it wasn’t until a few moments later that Cyrus realized it was supposed to be a nod. “So, um, the newspaper also has five sections. There’s news, feature, sports, entertainment, and opinion. There’s usually a lot of newsworthy stuff to cover every month so the news has four pages. I work on the front page and the second page and you have pages three and four. The front pages cover the most important stuff and three and four usually have the old or less important stories.”

TJ nodded again, moreso than the first time. It also seemed more sincere, but maybe he was just reading too much into things like he tended to do. Cyrus glanced at the computer screens, now lit up with several different icons decorating the home page. “For pages, we use InDesign and we use Photoshop for pictures,” Cyrus explained, “but today I’ll just show you how we write news stories.”

The other boy turned to look at him for the first _real_ time since he’d entered the room, and a ray of hope bloomed in Cyrus’s chest. “Are they hard to write?” TJ asked; his voice wasn’t so defensive now, but the obvious tension was still there. Still, Cyrus took it as a win.

“Not really. News stories only have a few sentences per paragraph and they’re usually not very long. They’re almost never more than four-hundred words.”

TJ raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh. Cool.”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s better than Mrs. Ratliff’s one-thousand word essays on how cell phones ruined this generation,” Cyrus said.

TJ snorted at that. Cyrus wasn’t sure if it was in agreement with what he said or not, but he chose to believe it was the first one. He couldn’t imagine _anyone_ saying good things about Mrs. Ratliff’s essays; it just wasn’t something that happened, period.

Cyrus spent the rest of the period telling TJ how to write news stories and be precise and explained that they had to remain subjective and not use first person nouns. TJ didn’t say much else except for asking the occasional question; he mostly just nodded along, and most of the time, Cyrus wasn’t completely sure if he was listening or not.

As soon as the bell rang, TJ bolted out of the classroom, grabbing his stuff and speeding out the door all in one swift motion. Cyrus watched the classroom door sway from where he’d thrown it open and felt a sinking feeling in his chest; had it really been _that_ unbearable spending the hour with him?

Cyrus took a few minutes to turn off the computers and gather his stuff while the rest of the class filed out of the room. As he moved towards the door, Mr. Spier flashed him a quick smile. “Did everything go okay with TJ?”

Cyrus stopped in his tracks, trying to decide what to tell him. He wanted to tell him the truth, that he wasn’t sure if TJ was even paying attention to him or understanding what he was saying, and to be truthful, that he was kind of intimidated by him. But he also didn’t want to let Mr. Spier down, and besides, he _had_ warned Cyrus that TJ would probably need some time to adjust. _Why_ he needed time to adjust, he wasn’t sure. The way Mr. Spier had acted, it was almost like TJ didn’t want to be on the newspaper staff at all.

He shrugged, allowing a smile to play on his lips even though he wasn’t really feeling it. “First days are always kind of rough, but I’m sure he’ll get the hang of it. He seemed like he understood what I was saying for the most part.” There was a silent _I think_ at the end of that sentence, one Cyrus didn’t bother adding for the sake of saving _some_ of his already-waning dignity.

“I knew I could count on you,” Mr. Spier grinned. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Cyrus. Make sure to ask me if you have any questions."

Cyrus promised that he would, which may or may not have been the truth, and headed out the door. With a sigh, he clutched his books to his chest, hoping against hope that tomorrow really _would_ be better.


	3. Chapter 3

Early the next morning, Cyrus walked into The Spoon. Now that they were all able to drive themselves, the Good Hair Crew met up for breakfast at the diner whenever they had time and hadn’t overslept (so not very often; it was hard to find a time where all three of them weren’t suffering from one of the above.) Sometimes Jonah joined them (whenever he _wasn’t_ running late) and Walker did occasionally (he attended a neighboring high school and spent most of his time working on last-minute art pieces in the morning) so it usually ended up being just the three of them. This morning was one of those times; Buffy and Andi were already sitting at a booth by the time Cyrus showed up, complaining about one of their many homework assignments as he walked in the door.

“—just don’t understand _why_ they give us so many assignments. Do teachers _not_ realize we have lives outside of school?” Andi’s voice carried from the booth they were sitting at. Even from the door, he could see her stabbing at her plate of eggs, bacon, and toast. They had all mutually agreed to eat _actual_ breakfast in the morning and save the baby taters for after school. Buffy usually got French toast and sausage and Cyrus always ordered an omelette with toast on the side, always spreading a thick layer of strawberry jam on each slice. “It’s like they _want_ us to go insane.”

“ _Right_?” Buffy asked, tearing a piece of French toast off her plate and popping it in her mouth. “I think they’re trying to torture us into dropping out.” Cyrus sat down across from them right at that second, making them both look up. “Morning, sleepyhead,” Buffy said dryly, but he knew she was just teasing, so he didn’t take any offense to it.

“I’m not _that_ late,” Cyrus protested. “ _Please_ tell me you ordered for me already. I’m _starving_.”

As soon as he finished his sentence, a waitress was placing a plate of hot food in front of him. He beamed at her in thanks as she walked away. “What kind of friends would we be if we _didn’t_ order your food for you?” Buffy joked.

“So, since we’re on the subject of complaining about teachers, was Mr. Spier mad at you for not selling a lot of newspapers?” Andi asked, eyes wide with curiosity. Buffy looked up from sprinkling powdered sugar on her toast, too, to raise her eyebrows at him.

“No, he basically said what you guys did. I guess I had nothing to worry about after all,” he said. Talking about Mr. Spier reminded Cyrus of the fact that he now had a co-editor (as if he hadn’t been thinking about it ever since TJ walked into the classroom yesterday afternoon.) “But guess what? Mr. Spier got another news editor on the staff yesterday.”

A smile broke out on Andi’s face. “Really? That’s great! Who is it?”

“TJ Kippen,” he answered. A frown formed on both of their faces, making Cyrus’s face scrunch up. “What? What’s wrong?”

Andi tried to straighten her face out, but the attempt only made her look even more perplexed. “Isn’t he friends with the basketball jocks?”

“You mean basketball _jerks_ ?” Buffy cut in, frowning in distaste. “They’re _always_ trashing the girls’ basketball team.”

“Or shoving people around in the hallway,” Andi added.

Cyrus took a bite of toast, the jam staining his top lip red as he chewed. “Have you ever seen TJ do any of those things?” he asked worriedly. He didn’t pay much attention to the jocks of the school, but he knew Buffy did considering she _was_ one along with Jonah (if you considered an Ultimate Frisbee player a jock, that is.)

Buffy frowned, dropping her fork on her plate. It clinked against the glass, making both Cyrus and Andi flinch. “Not exactly…,” she admitted. “But still, it counts by association.”

“Yeah, he still chooses to hang out with them.” Andi pointed out.

Cyrus slumped his shoulders forward; what if TJ really _was_ a huge bully like he’d feared? And why did he want to be on the newspaper stuff if he was really a big jerk? He shook his head; he wasn’t going to doom TJ in his mind until he knew more about him to think otherwise. “Anyway, yesterday was his first day and he barely even talked to me. What if he hates me already and we have to work together the rest of the year? Or what if he hates me so much that he quits?"

“I thought you liked working alone,” Andi said.

“I _do,_ but…,” he trailed off. Some things were just _better_ doing with someone else rather than by yourself. He enjoyed working alone and making all the decisions and not having to make them with someone else; he wasn’t sure he’d be up for the conflict, and besides, he knew he’d probably go along with whatever the other person said because he was too scared to disagree. “I don’t know. It might be nice having a friend,” he admitted, a half-smile curving at his lips.

They both smiled sympathetically at him. “I’m sure he doesn’t hate you,” Buffy argued, “but if he _does_ , tell him we’re like a very small gang. _And_ that I know where his locker is.”

Cyrus rolled his eyes playfully at his friends. “I’ll be sure to tell him,” he joked. He paused for a moment before asking, “Do you really know where his locker is?”

Buffy shrugged, her expression betraying no emotion. “Who’s to say?”

* * *

TJ found himself waiting outside Mr. Spier’s door as the final bell for seventh period rang. Part of him still couldn’t believe that he’d landed here, all because he’d cheated on a stupid quiz. Actually, that wasn’t true. He’d cheated—or been cheating—for months, even years now, on every math test, quiz, or exam he could. It’d been his own stupid fault that he’d gotten caught after all this time, no matter how much he wanted to deny it.

With a deep sigh, TJ stepped in the classroom and began his trek to the back computers, only stopping to lift his head in acknowledgement at Mr. Spier as he walked past.

TJ dropped his stuff on the table, sitting at the very end where he’d sat yesterday. The row of computers was empty except for him, oddly enough. Cyrus was nowhere in sight.

 _Cyrus_ . The boy who was teaching him about all this journalism stuff. Or his co-editor, he guessed he should say. That’s what they were, after all, or would be soon, anyway. He still wasn’t sure what to make of the deal he’d made with Spier; as much as he hated having to get another tutor and being _here_ , he figured it was probably better than being benched the entire basketball season. Basketball was the _only_ thing he was good at; he couldn’t let that be taken away from him, too.

But since he _was_ here, maybe it’d be better to try and make the most of it. It couldn’t be _that_ bad, right? Besides, he kind of felt bad for being so rude to Cyrus…

It wasn’t like it was Cyrus’s fault that he’d gotten stuck with TJ as a news editor; it wasn’t fair to punish him just because _he_ was pissed off, no matter _how_ badly he wanted to take everyone else down with him.

Cyrus came back in the room a few minutes later with a stack of papers, and TJ almost felt relieved. He didn’t like being back here by himself; he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be doing and he _really_ didn’t want anyone asking him any questions. As if he’d know the answer even if they did.

Cyrus came over and sat next to him after a few seconds, a look of hesitance passing over his face as he did so. A small pang of guilt went through TJ; it was his fault that he felt that way, and he knew it, too.

“What are those?” TJ asked after a few moments. He had to make it up to him _somehow_ , if only to get the feeling of guilt in his chest to go away. (Seeing a smile on the other boy’s face also wouldn’t hurt, but he pushed the thought away and tried not to think about it too much.)

The other boy looked surprised at the question, but answered, anyway. “Journalism handouts,” he explained, eyes lighting up like tinder to a flame. “They’re basically just tips and guides for writing stories and stuff. I thought maybe they’d help you since you’re new.” The last part almost came out in question, and for some reason, this made just the hint of a smile tug at TJ’s lips.

TJ glanced at the paper on the top of the stack. It said something he didn’t understand, something about writing stories in inverted pyramid style; he’d have to ask Cyrus about that later.

“Oh, cool. Thanks,” he said. Maybe it wasn’t much, but at least he was _trying_. Being nice wasn’t something that came easily to him. TJ and nice didn’t mix, like water and oil.

Again, Cyrus looked surprised, but didn’t say so. “Anyway, um...you ready to start designing pages?”

He was obviously nervous, and again, that little zip of guilt made him wince. He’d really have to be _extra_ nice now to make up for being , well, kind of a jerk yesterday. “Sure, bring it on,” he said.

That earned him a delighted look, and really, just seeing Cyrus smile was reward enough for all of this. (Again, he didn’t let himself think about that too much; it was too confusing and he already had a million things to worry about. Like what the hell was inverted pyramid style? And how do you _design_ pages?)

After loading up InDesign, Cyrus helped him open up a blank page for practice. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was practicing until Cyrus was dragging a text box across his own screen and talking about headlines. TJ listened, or at least _tried_ to listen (it was a lot of information to take in and his head was _already_ spinning), making sure to mimic whatever Cyrus was doing on the screen on his own computer. Sometimes, he had no problem with what he was doing and got it on the first or second try. Sometimes, he had trouble and Cyrus had to lean over and help him.

Like right now. Cyrus was explaining all the requirements he had to have on his pages (two stories, all at least two-hundred words but not over four-hundred, all Times New Roman, size ten-point-five, and at least two pictures.) It really _was_ a lot to remember, and suddenly, TJ was even _more_ grateful for the stack of handouts Cyrus had printed out for him.

It wasn’t _just_ remembering everything that he was struggling with, but also applying it all at once. He figured out soon enough that he couldn’t just put the bare minimum on his pages without there being a ton of blank space. “Think of it as a puzzle,” Cyrus suggested. “You have to fill in all the missing pieces and they all have to be the right size.”

TJ nodded and tried again, pushing back the itchy feeling of frustration bubbling in his chest. He dragged a text box across the screen to act as a headline (he didn’t have to write _actual_ ones yet, thankfully; they had a few more days in between last issue and the next to get to the writing part of everything.) A few spaces below it, he placed a byline (basically a rectangle with the author’s picture, name, and staff position; apparently, he’d be getting his own in the next couple weeks, which even _he_ had to admit was kind of cool.) Then he opened up a couple of text boxes and fit each of them vertically down all four columns. “Here, make your boxes shorter,” Cyrus interjected, scooting his chair towards TJ the tiniest bit (he pretended not to notice.) “Your story is going to be too big.”

TJ glanced at his screen. “You can tell that _just_ by looking?” he asked. Not meanly, just surprised. (He was quickly finding out that being nice to Cyrus really wasn’t hard. Not at all.)

Cyrus gave him a sheepish smile before looking away. “If you ever have trouble with your word count, you can add a pulled quote. Here, let me show you.”

This continued for the rest of the period with Cyrus showing TJ how to do something and TJ trying to copy his movements. To his own surprise, it was...kind of fun. It was like doing a puzzle, like Cyrus said, or solving a problem (a non-related math one, that is.) By the end of the period, TJ’s pages were basically just blank boxes and jumbled-up words (placeholder text, Cyrus had called it. For getting word count and filling in blank space until he could place stories.) He wasn’t sure if they were good or not, but they were done.

“So...do you have any questions? I _did_ throw a lot of information at you today,” Cyrus said. TJ noticed he was wringing his hands.

He thought for a moment. He had some questions about the papers Cyrus had given him, but he figured that could wait until they actually started writing stories. “Actually, I think I’m good,” he said. “But, uh...how did my pages look?” Surprisingly, he found himself actually nervous to hear the answer...

A slow smile spread across Cyrus’s face. “They were great! It’ll be good practice for the real thing.”

 _Great_? He hadn’t really expected them to be…well, anything. Definitely not great. The compliment made him smile despite himself. “Cool,” he nodded, trying not to make it feel like a big deal. “Thanks for helping me, though. I’d probably be completely lost right now if it wasn’t for you,” he laughed, just a little.

And Cyrus beamed, just a little. “Yeah, of course. I’m glad I could help you. Not be lost, that is.”

The comment made TJ’s mouth quirk up just as the dismissal bell rang. Quickly, he logged his computer off and gathered his stuff. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” Cyrus asked, still somewhat hesitantly.

TJ thought about his response for a second, though it wasn’t like he had a choice about coming here or not. “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

This time, TJ didn’t rush out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

TJ made it to Mr. Spier’s door just as the bell rang for seventh period. The first two or three times he’d come here, he’d arrived late on purpose, fully well knowing what time it was when he’d showed up. He hadn’t wanted to come,  _ dreaded _ coming to his room. It was only a reminder of the price he’d had to pay for cheating on his math quiz, a reminder of how he felt even more stupid than he normally did. But he wasn’t really aiming for a Friday detention on top of everything else, so he was actually trying to get to class on time now. (Unfortunately for him, his history class was all the way on the other side of the school, so he wasn’t having much luck with it.) With a sigh, he twisted the knob and pushed open the door.

Almost immediately, his eyes were drawn to the cone-shaped party hats on everyone’s heads, each of them decorated in pink, blue, and yellow. Almost all the other students were holding various snack foods or kitchen utensils. Someone in the corner was holding a cake.

Puzzled, TJ scanned the room for Cyrus; the other boy was standing at the back of the room holding a container of cookies, and the relief in his chest was almost overwhelming. “Hey, Cyrus,” TJ said, pushing his way past the other students in party hats. (They all looked at him in annoyance, but he pretended not to notice.) “What’s going on?”

Cyrus gave him a confused look (he was  _ also _ wearing a party hat and TJ was tempted to smile at the scene), then widened his eyes. “Oh, we’re having a birthday party! I’m sorry, I  _ totally _ spaced on telling you.”

_ Birthday party _ ? Cyrus’s answer didn’t do much to much to dissipate his confusion, but he brushed it off. “Oh, cool,” he said, (because what else was he supposed to say?) It wasn’t really in him to care about some random class birthday party, especially one for a person he probably didn’t even know.

Suddenly, everyone started filing out of the classroom, and TJ gave Cyrus another puzzled look. “Where’s everyone going?”

He began moving forward, so TJ followed closely behind him. “The cafeteria. We have to eat down there so we don’t make a mess in the classroom,” he explained.

TJ shrugged; he guessed that made sense. “So, how often do you guys have birthday parties?” he asked. They were in the hallway now, lagging behind the rest of the class. (Not that TJ minded so much; he’d prefer to be in the back with Cyrus than up there with a bunch of people he didn’t like and/or know.)

Cyrus glanced up at him, the persistent half-smile that always resided on his face there now. “About once a month,” he said. “We usually have them between issues when we don’t have any work to do.”

Even TJ had to admit that was kind of cool. He’d never heard of any of the other classes having parties; he wondered if anyone outside of the newspaper staff even knew about them. He certainly hadn’t, though it wasn’t like he interacted with anyone besides the guys on the basketball team, so he didn’t really intermingle with any other circles. “Do you have any other parties?”

Cyrus seemed to think for a moment, his eyebrows pulling together in the middle. “Sometimes. The only  _ big _ parties we have are the Christmas and Valentine’s Day ones and we bring presents and cards and stuff. The other ones are pretty much all the same where we just bring in a bunch of food and head down to the cafeteria.”

TJ gave a hum of assent. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Besides, it had to be better than doing actual classwork for a whole period.

They ambled down the hallway, Cyrus having a slight bounce to his step as they made their way to the cafeteria. When they reached the room, the other students were already arranging different desserts around a rectangular table.

Cyrus stepped up and put his cookies on the table, a line forming around him as everybody grabbed paper plates from the stack on the end. TJ wasn’t really sure what to do, solely watching everybody else as they piled cookies and cake on their plates.

“Hey, TJ, why don’t you get in line?” someone asked. He turned to see Mr. Spier; he must’ve noticed him standing back. His smile was as bright as his eyes, and TJ still couldn’t figure out how he managed to stay so  _ happy  _ all the time; maybe he took double-shots of espresso in the morning to keep him energized.

“I am,” he said evenly enough, though he didn’t move. He figured he’d wait for everyone else to get done before getting his own plate.

“I see,” Mr. Spier said. “So, what do you think of being on the newspaper so far? Is Cyrus doing a good job of helping you out?”

TJ wasn’t sure what instituted a “good job” considering he didn’t have anything to compare it to, but he was learning a lot, that was for sure. He  _ did _ like having Cyrus as a teacher, though; maybe that’s what Mr. Spier meant. “It’s okay, I guess. Cyrus is doing good.”

“Great,” he beamed. “Just thought I’d check in on your progress.”

“Well, I’m progressing,” TJ said, his voice slighted with sarcasm.

If Mr. Spier noticed it, he didn’t say so. “Great,” he repeated, clapping a hand on TJ’s shoulder. “Seriously, though, go get some food. There’s going to be enough for everyone to have thirds at this rate.”

TJ fought back another sarcastic smile before nodding and stepping in line. It was mostly empty now, save for a few people grabbing drinks at the end of the line. Quickly, he grabbed a plate and stacked a random supply of cookies on it before glancing around.

Two of the tables had been pushed together so everyone could sit with their friends; a few smaller groups were scattered together in a few other places. And then there was Cyrus, sitting alone at a table of his own in the corner and staring down at his plate.

Without a second thought, TJ moved to the square table Cyrus was at and nudged his plate on the surface. “So, who’s birthday party is this, anyway?” he asked, sitting down next to him.

Cyrus glanced up at him, his lips spreading up into a smile. For whatever reason, that smile made his heart do a somersault, though he wasn’t sure why. ( _ Not _ that he’d let himself think about it even if he did.) “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Sometimes we have birthday parties and nobody even has a birthday for the month.”

TJ felt his lips twitch a little at that. “Why were you sitting alone?” he asked. It really didn’t make any sense to him. Why was  _ Cyrus _ of all people sitting by himself? He was much too nice and funny to not have anyone to sit with.

His smile dimmed, just a little, and TJ already knew he wouldn’t like the answer, feeling his stomach turn. Cyrus began picking at his food. “I don’t really have any friends in here.”

TJ’s eyes scrunched up in the middle, lips dipping into a frown. He didn’t like how much it bothered him that Cyrus didn’t have any friends (well, in here, anyway. He  _ had _ to have other friends outside of the class.) “How come?”

“Most of the people in here are popular and they only joined to hang out with their friends,” he explained. He gestured to the lunch tables nearby, full of the popular people he’d been referring to.

TJ leaned back in his seat, stabbing at his square of cake. “Then why did you join?”

The other boy seemed to think for a moment; TJ glanced over at him, watching his face glow up like a flickering lightbulb. “I like journalism. I like giving people the news,” he said after a second. His eyes were gleaming with excitement. “I think I’m going to try to be editor-in-chief for next year,” he added, voice lowered like he didn’t want anyone to hear (which he didn’t really need to do, anyway; they were already too far away from everyone else for them to hear anything.)  TJ raised his eyebrows in confusion; he wasn’t really sure what that was, but luckily Cyrus explained. “Basically, I’d be like the behind-the-scenes supervisor. I’d get to call  _ all _ the shots. Which is...kind of out of my comfort zone, but I think I’d be good at it. Maybe. I don’t know,” he said, frowning at his plate.

“No, you’re right. I think you would be good at that,” TJ said. He didn’t  _ fully  _ understand what an editor-in-chief was or really anything relating to journalism. But he  _ did _ know that it’d make Cyrus happy, so really, what was the harm in that?

Cyrus beamed like the sun, eyes twinkling like the stars. “Really? You think so?”

TJ laughed, out of nervousness or something else, he wasn’t sure. “I mean, I’m obviously not the best person to ask, but...yeah. I think you deserve it more than anyone else in here.” He glanced around at everyone else before meeting Cyrus’s eyes again. “No one here is as dedicated as you, Cyrus. I can tell that just from being here a week. You’re like...like the underdog.”  _ Underdog _ . He liked the sound of that. Maybe he’d have to call him that again.

The other boy looked down at his plate of birthday cake. TJ thought (or hoped) that maybe for a second he was blushing, but it was hard to tell when he was glancing down like that. “Thanks, TJ,” he said after a moment, a smile in his voice.

“Happy to help.”

From there, they ate their cake and the dozen different things on their plates while also somehow getting into an argument about which of their cookies was  _ really _ the best. (Cyrus debated Lofthouse sugar cookies because of the icing and sprinkles and TJ argued chocolate chip since they were a classic.)

About a half an hour later, they exchanged their routinely  _ see you tomorrow _ ’s and walked their separate ways to their lockers.

About a half an hour later, TJ was leaving the cafeteria, feeling a lot happier than he’d been to begin with.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, TJ got to class before the bell and headed straight to the back computers. He’d fallen into somewhat of a routine of doing so, coming into class right as the bell rang and sitting at the back of the classroom with Cyrus. As usual, Cyrus was already sitting there when he arrived, his elbows resting on the table when TJ sat down. “Hey,” he said, scooting in his chair to the edge of the table and tugging his jacket off. Mr. Spier’s classroom was always too warm for him to wear anything more than a T-shirt most days.

Cyrus sat up immediately, face breaking out in a smile. “Hey! I have something for you.”

TJ raised his eyebrows in surprise, trying not to let the excitement bubbling in his chest surface. “Really? What is it?”

“Well, actually it’s  _ two _ things,” Cyrus explained. He pulled something out of the seat next to him and held it out; in his hands was a shiny blue notebook, a white label on the top right-hand corner with TJ’s name on it. “This is your journal! Every Friday, we write a page about our progress for the week. You can also write about other stuff, too, like your plans for the weekend or whatever. It doesn’t matter, as long as you get a page.”

TJ took the notebook from his hands, staining the glossy cover with his fingerprints. He wasn’t really sure what to think of it quite yet (writing a full page seemed kind of boring and tedious), but Cyrus seemed super excited, so he smiled. “Thanks, Cyrus,” he said, glancing at the other boy with a grin. 

Cyrus beamed before getting up from his seat. “This is the other thing I wanted to show you,” he explained, gesturing to a tall, rectangular structure with slots that stood against one of the far walls. TJ got out of his own seat and followed him. “This is your mailbox! You can keep all your stuff in here so nothing gets lost.” He pointed to a slot with another white label stuck on the left of it. This one read “TJ Kippen: News Editor,” the mailbox right below Cyrus’s. “So, do you like it?” Maybe it was TJ’s imagination, but he seemed anxious about his answer.

TJ grinned, thumbing the label on his newly-minted mailbox. “It’s great, Underdog,” he said, the nickname slipping out of his mouth. Cyrus didn’t say anything, though his cheeks looked a little pink if he squinted. (Not that he  _ cared _ ; he was pretty sure he shouldn’t care whether or not Cyrus was blushing.) “When did you find the time to do all this, anyway?”

“I  _ never _ leave the house without a label maker,” he explained. TJ couldn’t help but laugh at that. “What? You never know when it could come in handy!”

“You’re funny, Cyrus,” TJ laughed again, shaking his head. His cheeks hurt a little; he wasn’t used to smiling and laughing so much. Weird. 

“That’s  _ definitely _ not the descriptor I’d use, but I appreciate the compliment,” Cyrus said.

Still laughing, they both made their way back to their seats. It took a few moments for them to settle down, though when they finally did, Cyrus opened his notebook up to a blank page and began writing. TJ figured he should probably get started, too...he wasn’t sure how long this was going to take, especially since he didn’t exactly know what to write about. He knew he was supposed to report his progress for the week, but Cyrus  _ did _ say he could talk about other stuff, too…

He shook off that last thought, reiterating everything he’d done with Cyrus this past week. He also made sure to mention how big of a help Cyrus had been (partially because it was the only thing he could think of that would get him to a full page, partially because he hoped maybe it would better Cyrus’s chances of becoming editor-in-chief or whatever it was called next year.) When they both finished, Cyrus took both of their notebooks and turned them into Mr. Spier.

They spent the rest of the period pouring over the handouts Cyrus had printed out for him a few days before, TJ practice-writing news stories while Cyrus looked over them and made any necessary corrections. The time seemed to fly by, a contrast to the way TJ’d been watching the clock on the desktop computer his first day. Just when he was walking out the door, Mr. Spier called out, “TJ, can I talk to you for a minute?” 

TJ glanced around the room; it was completely empty except for Cyrus, who was logging off his computer at the back of the classroom. “Sure,” he said evenly. “What’s up?”

Mr. Spier smiled at him, clicking the cap on his pen a few times before saying, “I talked to the guidance counselor. About your...problem.”

TJ felt an uncomfortable feeling weighing on his chest, switching his books to his other arm. “Okay…”

“And guess what? She found you a tutor! I know you said your tutors haven’t worked in the past, but this one knows what she’s doing. She’s specialized to deal with problems like this.” He paused. “TJ, are you listening to me?”

_ Deal. Problems. _ “Yeah, I’m listening,” he said, a huff of breath escaping his lips. He knew there was no point in getting worked up over it, that Mr. Spier didn’t mean any harm.

“Okay, good. You’ll be meeting her in here after school on Tuesdays and Thursday from three to four, all right? You start next week.”

Numbly, blindly, TJ nodded, even that sole movement feeling like it was too much. Then he said: “Okay.”

If Mr. Spier noticed his discomfort about the situation, he didn’t say so. “Great! I’ll see you Monday. Have a great weekend.”

“You too,” he said sarcastically, mumbling it under his breath so he didn’t hear it. He looked back to see Cyrus already looking at him;  _ shit,  _ he’d totally forgotten that Cyrus had been in the room. He wondered if he’d heard their conversation…

He didn’t get much time to worry about it because as soon as he made it out the door, Cyrus was behind him, trying to catch up with him. “TJ,” he said, making him stop short. “Wait up.” 

He did, letting Cyrus reach his side before moving again. (TJ’s locker was in a different locker bay than Cyrus’s, but he didn’t tell Cyrus that.) “Are you okay? I heard what Mr. Spier said...about the tutoring.”

TJ felt his face flush red (from anger or embarrassment, he wasn’t sure.) He didn’t say anything (because, really, what was he supposed to say? Tell Cyrus that he was stupid, that he couldn’t do math and was  _ failing _ ? That he’d had a billion other tutors that gave up on him? That he  _ wasn’t _ okay? None of those seemed like viable options.) So he stayed silent, listening to the scrape of his shoes against the tile instead of anything else.

Cyrus, however, did not keep quiet. “Can I ask you something?” TJ gave him a fleeting look; his brown eyes were wide with sadness and his lips were contorted into a frown.

Under normal circumstances, he probably would’ve said yes. But he knew what this was about, what it was going to be about. “Depends,” he replied. “Is it about me needing a tutor?”

His eyebrows drew together, and that confirmed TJ’s suspicions. “Not exactly,” Cyrus said. “I just...is that why you’re on the newspaper staff? Are those things connected somehow?”

TJ let out a frustrated sigh. “Yes. Congratulations, you figured it out. Happy?” Cyrus looked taken aback, and maybe a little hurt, too. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that this wasn’t Cyrus’s fault and that it wasn’t fair to blame him. “Sorry,” he apologized, sounding resentful (because he was; Cyrus didn’t deserve to get treated like this, especially not by him.) “On Monday, Mr. Spier caught me cheating, so he made me a deal. He said that if I become a news editor, he’d make sure I didn’t get kicked off the basketball team. But he’s also making me get a...you know. Tutor.”

“Why didn’t you get one before?” Cyrus asked. His voice was soft, paper thin.

TJ looked at everything that wasn’t Cyrus. “I  _ did _ . But they didn’t work, I guess. It’s like my brain has a malfunction or something. It always has when it comes to math.”

They continued to walk; Cyrus was quiet for a long time, both of them almost reaching the end of the hallway before he finally spoke again. “It sounds like you have dyscalculia.”

TJ scrunched up his eyebrows. “What?”

“It’s like dyslexia, but with math. It’d explain why your other tutors didn’t work out,  _ and _ why you’ve been failing.”

He stopped in his tracks. Did he have..whatever Cyrus said? Was that the reason he wasn’t able to do math? “How do you know about that?” he asked.

Cyrus gave him a little shrug. “All four of my parents are psychologists, so I’ve kind of grown accustomed to knowing random medical terms.” TJ nodded, so slowly that he wasn’t sure he was doing it at all.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Cyrus. “Are you okay?” he asked, voice swelling with concern. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”

TJ leaned against the wall behind them, shoulders slumping forward. “No.” Cyrus’s fingers tightened on his arm. “All this time I thought I was just stupid. I’d rather everyone  _ think _ I’m just stupid...”

“You’re  _ not _ stupid. There’s nothing wrong with having a learning disability, TJ.”

He scoffed, a little huff of breath, but it wasn’t directed at Cyrus. “Tell that to Mr. Spier. He keeps calling it my ‘problem.’”

“I don’t think he means anything by it,” Cyrus said. His voice was soothing and warm, or maybe TJ was just clinging to any sort of kindness he could. “But it’s not a problem. Your brain just works differently. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

TJ nodded again. This time it was easier; his chest didn’t feel so heavy. He felt Cyrus’s grip loosen up, just a little. “You’re right,” he said, the smallest of smiles pulling at his mouth. “Thanks, Underdog.”

Cyrus was smiling, too. “Happy to help,” he beamed, pulling away as they began walking again. “And not to change the subject, but your stories and pages looked  _ really _ good these past few days. I mean, I know they were just for practice, but I think this is something you’re going to be really good at.” He seemed also shy as he said it, not making direct eye contact with him.

The comment made warmth swell in TJ’s chest, something he wasn’t used to. He also  _ certainly _ wasn’t used to being praised for something other than basketball...no one had really told him he was good at anything else besides that. It felt...nice. He liked feeling like he was useful for something else. “Thanks,” TJ half-smiled. “Too bad I’m probably only here for a few months, though, until Spier finds a replacement.”

This time Cyrus looked up, meeting his eyes with what looked like  _ hurt _ . “Replacement?”

TJ frowned...had Mr. Spier not told him that he was only there temporarily? “Yeah. The deal was that I fill in as a news editor until he can find a replacement. I mean, he  _ did _ say I could stay longer if I wanted, but I’ll probably leave once I get back on the team.”

Now Cyrus was frowning. He’d thought TJ was staying on permanently, not filling in for a couple months and then leaving. He felt almost...used since TJ was only there to save his spot on the basketball team. “So, you’re probably not staying in the class that long?”

TJ’s shoulders lifted up in a shrug, eyebrows furrowed. “Probably.”

The sinking chest in Cyrus’s chest only deepened as they reached his locker bay. “Oh,” was all he could manage. He wasn’t sure why he cared as much as he did; they’d only been co-editors for a week, after all, but that did nothing to dissipate the sadness he felt over the situation. He tended to care too much about everything, anyway, to get attached even when he didn’t realize it. He began twisting the knob on his combination wordlessly, trying not to show how upset he was.

TJ cleared his throat. He wasn’t quite sure what had gone wrong between him and Cyrus, but he did know he didn’t like it. Not one bit. “So, I’ll see you Monday?” he asked, tucking his books under his arm. The question had become something of a routine for them, too, the answer always being  _ yes _ . 

“Yeah, later,” Cyrus said, smiling thinly as he shoved his books in his bag and walked towards the door. TJ frowned as he watched him leave; something was off, but he wasn’t sure what it was.

Silently, TJ watched the door fall shut behind him as he tried to figure out just what had gone wrong in his conversation with Cyrus.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this has been kind of a slow start, but I promise a lot more will be happening in every chapter from now on. Thanks for reading and reviewing! -buffymysavior

Monday rolled around much sooner than Cyrus had anticipated. For the first time in three years, he was actually _dreading_ going to Mr. Spier’s class (journalism, not math; he’d _definitely_ dreaded attending his math class before.) His fear was due to TJ, strangely enough (he hadn’t been _truly_ afraid of the other boy since his third day in the class; the intimidation had worn off for the most part, though Cyrus did feel like he had to walk on eggshells around him occasionally.) Not _only_ was it TJ’s first day working on an actual issue of the newspaper, but it was quite possibly one of his last. Cyrus still wasn’t over the fact that TJ wouldn’t be staying in the class longer than a couple months; he felt more wounded than he expected over the whole deal, feeling as used as a wadded-up tissue (which, as gross as it sounded, was just how he felt. Dirty and disposable.) As much as he already liked being TJ’s friend from the past week of knowing him, he wasn’t sure if he should let himself get anymore attached than he already was. Because even though _he_ valued TJ’s friendship, it didn’t mean TJ did, or at least not as much as Cyrus; for all he knew, they’d go back to being strangers the second TJ was back on the basketball team.

He contemplated this as he waited for TJ to arrive—his thoughts were running a mile a minute, a whirlwind of arguments and defenses battling it out in his head. As his eyes watched the clock (TJ would be there any minute; he’d been getting to class on time the past couple days) he decided it was best to not get his hooks in too deep as hard as that would be for him. It was difficult for him _not_ to get invested in the people around him as shy and timid as he was; he liked helping people and being there when they needed him most, especially when they pretended they didn’t.

Before Cyrus could think himself into an endless oblivion, TJ strided through the door, textbooks tucked under his arm. He looked a little apprehensive as he walked in, and right before TJ’s eyes caught his, Cyrus turned away. “Hey, Underdog,” he said, sitting down at the end (Cyrus still hadn’t tried to reclaim his seat, though it wasn’t like it’d matter anyway since TJ was only there for a few more months.)

“Hey,” he said, nerves creeping into his voice. He gave TJ one fleeting glance, only allowing himself that before fixating his gaze on his computer screen. “Ready to get started on your first issue?”

TJ let out a small snort. “With you as my teacher? Bring it on.”

Cyrus blushed just the smallest bit, silently hoping it didn’t show. Comments like this—especially ones he never expected—tended to make him flustered, though he wasn’t exactly sure why. He wasn’t used to getting praise from...well, anyone, so whenever he did, it made him happier than usual, like a dead lightbulb flickering to life. But with TJ, it was different; getting compliments made his cheeks warm and his chest tighten up. It was weird. Different. (Not to say that these were bad things. Cyrus still wasn’t sure what to make of it all, to be quite honest, but he decided to chalk it up to not being used to getting praise from someone like TJ. Someone who looked like they could cut you with just a glare.)

He shook his head at himself; he _really_ wasn’t doing a good job of detaching himself from TJ. “So, um, basically we start out with story ideas,” he said, opening up the document on his computer. “We have to come up with three for each section. Anything you can think of currently happening in the community or the school will work. Just make sure you don’t repeat someone else’s idea if they already wrote it down.”

TJ nodded, bopping his head up and down. He may have shrugged, though Cyrus wouldn’t let himself turn his head to check. “Okay, cool. Sounds easy enough.”

Cyrus didn’t respond, not allowing himself to do even that. Responding would lead to talking and talking would lead to having a conversation and having a conversation would lead to being friends (which Cyrus _did_ want, but he figured he’d save himself the pain when TJ inevitably ignored him within the next month or two.) He tapped his tongue against his teeth as he thought, trying to ignore the fact that TJ was sitting next to him so he could concentrate on the task at hand. _Story ideas, focus_ , he reminded himself. What was going on for the month…

After doing a quick sweep of the morning announcements (his go-to source for ideas), he got plenty of ideas for the news section. The Shadyside town fair was coming up in the next week or so, and that was always a big news story to cover. That’d have to go on the front page. It was also the Halloween issue, meaning they’d have to do a cover story of the Halloween Dance. There was also a movie night one of the school clubs was hosting as a fundraiser—apparently, they were showcasing classic horror movies in the auditorium (the words ‘horror’ and ‘movies’ creating a terrible combination that made Cyrus shudder.) That was also an important story—not important enough to get on the front page, but it would do nicely on the second one.

Cyrus spent another fifteen minutes wrapping up all of his ideas and typing them up on the doc on his computer, making sure to put three ideas in each column before scrolling through all the news ideas and highlighting all the ones they’d use. Each page had to have at least two stories, so they’d need at least eight ideas just for their section. Luckily, since it was a holiday issue, there were plenty of story ideas to go around, and soon enough, Cyrus had all the stories for his pages mapped out. “That wasn’t so hard,” TJ said, getting up from his chair and stretching. Cyrus was standing on his in an attempt to write story ideas down on the whiteboard tacked up in front of the computers.

“It’s usually harder when it’s not a holiday,” Cyrus said. Not that TJ would know, of course. The following issue was Thanksgiving, so that’d probably be a full issue, too, and then he’d be gone (though he didn’t voice these thoughts out loud.) Instead, he wrote ideas on the whiteboard with blue dry-erase marker—or at least _tried_ to, anyway. Even with the chair, he was struggling to reach the top of the board—it wasn’t like Cyrus was short, but the ceilings were pretty high up and so was the whiteboard.

“Here, let me get it,” TJ said. Without warning, he took the marker from Cyrus’s hand, making the other boy falter as he watched TJ effortlessly write “Shadyside Fair” on the whiteboard. He had a nice scrawl; his words curled and slanted in a sort of half-cursive that Cyrus found endearing.

He shook his head, not for the first time that day. He shouldn’t find anything of TJ’s endearing; it was a sign of attachment, one that Cyrus knew all too well in his history of getting attached to pretty much _everyone_. “Oh, thanks,” he said weakly, taking the marker back from TJ and writing down the other ideas without so much as a peep.

He felt TJ’s eyes on him as he sat back down again, the other boy slowly doing the same. “Are you okay? You seem a little…” _Distant_ ? _Closed-off_ ? _Withdrawn_ ? Any of those would’ve worked to describe Cyrus right then. But TJ didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he asked, “Did I do something?” He sounded concerned, something Cyrus had never heard from TJ, which made it just _that_ much harder to avoid anything having to do with him.

Cyrus did his best to put his acting skills from sixth grade Drama Club to good use. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to, Teej.” _Teej._ He’d certainly never called him that before; where it came from, he had no clue. “I’m perfectly...what’s a word that means happy but better?” He couldn’t seem to conjure one up when his mind was drowning in the depths of despair.

TJ furrowed his eyebrows, shrugging. “I don’t know. Joyful?”

“Yes. I’m perfectly joyful,” he said. Except he wasn’t. Cyrus often let his emotions control him, and this was definitely one of those times.

This didn’t seem to make TJ any less worried, though he said, “Okay...if you say so.”

The rest of class was quiet for the most part except for the occasional small talk (Cyrus didn’t want to _completely_ ice him out) and for when Cyrus explained to him about story assignments. Soon enough, it was three o’clock and the bell was ringing, making Cyrus practically jump out of his seat. TJ followed him out the door, much to his own surprise and dread; the air between them felt like a tense fog, one that made Cyrus’s head feel muddled and his stomach turn uneasily. “How do you feel? I mean, it being your first day working on an issue and all,” Cyrus said in an attempt to alleviate them from some of the awkward silence.

He allowed himself to glance at TJ as he said, “Pretty okay, actually. At least, it wasn’t as confusing as I expected it to be. I guess I have you to thank for that,” he added.

Cyrus turned away, feeling his cheeks warm with that familiarly confusing burn. “I’m glad I could be of help,” he said, not letting himself to look at TJ. He knew if he did, he’d see his scrunched up eyebrows and his small frown and the confusion plastered on his face and he wasn’t sure he could handle it.

“Yeah…,” TJ said—mumbled, really—before trailing off into nothingness. Cyrus thought (or maybe hoped, despite his own wishes) that he was going to say something else, but before he could, he heard a few familiar voices carrying from behind him.

Cyrus turned around to see Buffy, Jonah, and Andi waving at him. “Hey, Cyrus!” Jonah called out with a familiar grin. He was currently holding hands with Buffy—not an unusual occurrence for the two of them since it was the only form of PDA either of them were really comfortable with—and standing in the middle of his other two friends. “What’s up?”

He felt TJ’s shoulder brush up against his own as he glanced back, too. He swallowed nervously; his friends were caught up on the TJ situation pretty much beat for beat, but they hadn’t run into each other quite yet. He’d been hoping it wouldn’t happen, partially because he knew Andi and Buffy already were unsure of how to feel about him, partially because it would make it that much harder once TJ rejoined the basketball team. “Just going to my locker!” he said over-enthusiastically, his nerves coating his words. He spared a glance at TJ—his face was blank, from a lack of recognition or boredom, he wasn’t sure. “Guys, this is TJ. My...co-editor,” he settled after a moment.

TJ’s face only betrayed a flicker of emotion—so fast Cyrus couldn’t even tell what it was—before bouncing back into its original state. “Hey,” he said rigidly. From where he was standing, Cyrus could see TJ sizing up each of his friends.

“Hi,” Andi said tensely in response, though she didn’t even look at TJ. She cleared her throat before saying, “Cyrus, we were just heading to The Spoon. You coming?” She was clinging to the straps of her backpack tightly the way she tended to do when she was uncomfortable.

Immediately, Cyrus was tempted to invite TJ along with him, though it of course violated the anti-getting close to TJ policy he’d mentally put in place. This reminder didn’t do anything to change the fact that he _wanted_ him to come to The Spoon with them, unfortunately.

As Cyrus tried to decide whether he should invite TJ or not (his mind _desperately_ trying to convince him to _not_ ), Jonah exclaimed, “Hey, Cy, why don’t you bring your friend? It’d be _totally_ epic if he came with us.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Buffy and Andi both nudge him in the ribs for asking. Leave it to Jonah to be oblivious of the thick tension hanging in the air.

Cyrus’s face went red and his eyes widened at the question, allowing himself to glance at TJ. His face was hard and smooth except for the tip of his eyebrows that gave away his obvious surprise. “I can’t. I have to go to work,” TJ said, switching his textbooks to his other arm. Cyrus wasn’t sure how true this was; he had a feeling it wasn’t. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said only to Cyrus, directing his gaze at him one last time. He didn’t even wait around to hear Cyrus’s response before walking down the hallway.

“Now that _he’s_ gone,” Buffy said from behind him, a shudder of disgust in her voice, “you ready to go? There’s a basket of baby taters practically _calling_ my name.”

Cyrus frowned as he watched TJ stride down the hallway and turn the corner. “Yeah, let’s go,” he said, allowing himself to fall in step next to Andi. His friends continued their conversation from earlier, laughing and carrying on, but Cyrus wasn’t really listening. His mind was somewhere else—down the hall with TJ, to be exact. As he recalled their conversation from last Friday, Cyrus couldn’t help but wonder if any aspect of TJ would be permanent.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter of TWE is a special one! My friend @cantouttuffthebuff on Tumblr drew art for this chapter and it’s amazing so please go check it out and give her a like!!!  
> https://cantouttuffthebuff.tumblr.com/post/181993207258/third-effing-time-im-reposting-this-i-hate-tumblr

About a week and a half passed in which Cyrus was still trying (and somewhat failing) to distance himself from TJ. Sometimes it was too hard to detach himself from the other boy, especially when he made a joke Cyrus couldn’t _help_ but laugh at or gave him an off-handed compliment that tinged his cheeks pink. But for the most part, they didn’t talk, save for one of those rare moments TJ caught him off-guard and their daily _see you tomorrow_ ’s.

Wednesday night marked the start of the Shadyside Fall Festival—the fair always fell on the second Wednesday in October and ended on the following Sunday. The festival was going to be covered on the front page of the newspaper, meaning that Cyrus was responsible for taking pictures of the fair for his pages.

He normally attended the festival with his friends—Buffy, Andi, and Jonah, with the addition of Walker in recent years—but the past few times he’d come, he’d felt like a third wheel, or fifth wheel, in this case. Cyrus loved spending time with his friends, and they spent _a lot_ of time together, whether it just be him, Buffy, and Andi at The Spoon or the entire group of them. But ever since they all paired off eighth and ninth grade year (Andi and Walker in eighth grade, Jonah and Buffy in ninth), he tended to feel a little left out on group outings such as these, especially at something as big as the town festival. It was one of the biggest couple’s outings in all of Shadyside, and in their group of pairs, Cyrus stuck out like a sore thumb. Doubled by the fact that Cyrus was too terrified to ride anything unlike the rest of his friends, he’d tended to get kind of lonely the past couple of times. So this year, he decided he was just taking pictures for the front page and then leaving—he wasn’t too keen on sticking around by himself or being a fifth wheel for the night (even if his friends didn’t _intend_ for it to happen.) They’d been pretty upset when he’d initially broken the news, but after he listed off all the points why they _should_ go without him and why he really wouldn’t be missing out on much (due to his lack of riding any of the rollercoasters), they’d eventually conceded and made him promise to hang out with them on their next outing (to which he happily pinkie-swore.)

That was how he found himself in the town square Wednesday night. The fair was in full swing by the time he arrived, screaming and laughter ringing in the air and the delicious aroma of funnel cakes and other delicacies wafting from various food stands. As terrified as he was of a lot of the things at the festival, he’d always enjoyed coming to it every year, loved the atmosphere of happiness and fun present. The reminder of it left a panging in his chest; the fact that he really wasn’t staying at the town fair this year was beginning to hit him, leaving him with the feeling that a sinkhole was swallowing up his chest. (Which may have been a _little_ dramatic, but what was Cyrus Goodman if _not_ dramatic.) Holding back a sigh, Cyrus took the camera hanging around his neck and began taking pictures of all the attractions surrounding him.

Teenagers standing in line and slamming into each other on the bumper cars. _Snap_ . People stuffing freshly made bags of cotton candy in their faces. _Snap_ . Kids playing carnival games and winning armfuls of stuffed animals. _Snap_ . Someone tapping him on the shoulder. _Snap._

Cyrus let his camera fall around his neck as he whipped around in surprise; immediately, he was met with a familiar sweep of blonde hair and sparkling green eyes. “Hey, Underdog!” TJ said, a grin taking over his face.

The nickname combined with that smile of his made Cyrus feel blushy and squirmy for whatever reason. Weird. He wasn’t really sure what to think of seeing TJ here; he _was_ supposed to be avoiding him, but that didn’t change the fact that his smile widened when he’d realized it’d been _him_ who’d tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, TJ, what are you doing here?” he asked after a moment. It wasn’t like their after-school plans had come up in their streak of sometimes-but-not-really talking; besides, even if they had, Cyrus would have deemed the fact that he was taking pictures for a few minutes and then leaving as unimportant.

He shrugged, the black sweatshirt he was wearing rising and falling along with the movement of his shoulders. “Town fair. Everyone comes here the first night.”

Cyrus nodded; he wasn’t wrong. _Everyone_ came to the festival on the first night. It was basically a right of passage in Shadyside to be in attendance at the fair on that second Wednesday of the month. “What about you?” TJ asked.

“I’m just taking pictures for the front page and then I’m leaving,” Cyrus explained, feeling a sad half-smile tug at his lips. It wasn’t like he _didn’t_ want to be here; he loved everything about the festival (sans the rides), loved how magical it felt just to be there. But he knew going with his friends (however much they loved spending time with him) would result in being the odd number out, and he didn’t want that feeling of loneliness to get its clutches on him tonight (even though he figured it was going to, anyway.)  Loneliness was like a disease he couldn’t seem to get away from; it had its claws set into him, and he feared they would never come out.

The smile on TJ’s face dissolved into a frown. “Leaving? How come?”

He wasn’t sure if he should tell him; it’d probably sound stupid and whiny and lame and it really wouldn’t be helping him distance himself from TJ. He began toying with the strap of his camera, looking at the ground. “All my friends have their dates. I just didn’t want to be a third wheel all night and bum everyone out,” he finally admitted. He was right; it _did_ sound stupid and whiny and lame.

Or maybe not. “Why don’t you hang out with me?” TJ asked, voice sounding as solid as it was certain.

The question left the sound of Cyrus’s heartbeat roaring in his ears; he could practically feel the pulse in his fingertips. He was pretty sure he looked up at TJ with happy puppy dog eyes as he asked, “Really? You want to hang out with _me_?”

TJ rolled his eyes, as if it was obvious. (It wasn’t, anyway. Not to Cyrus.) “Of course, Underdog. Besides, I don’t have anyone to hang out with either. It turns out your basketball friends only care about you when you’re actually on the team.”

The revelation made Cyrus sad again, but not for himself: for TJ. It was in that moment that he decided to stop being afraid of getting close to TJ. Maybe he needed a friend, too, and Cyrus would be that for him, even if it maybe was only temporary. “I’d _love_ to,” Cyrus beamed, “but I should warn you, I’m _terrified_ of all the rides.”

TJ shrugged, his smile returning. “Fine by me,” he said, showcasing a toothy grin. “So, what do you want to do?”

Cyrus glanced around at all the attractions, the aroma of the food stands surrounding them making his stomach grumble. “Actually, do you mind if we eat first? I’m _starving_.”

“Sure. What do you want to eat?”

He looked around again, his eyes finding a venue advertising funnel cakes, deep-fried Oreos, and basically everything under the sun. “Fried Oreos sound good! So do the funnel cakes. Or should I get cotton candy? Or cheese fries?” Cyrus continued to scan the menu from afar, trying to decide what he wanted to eat (which was pretty much everything.)

TJ laughed from beside him. “Something tells me you’re not the best decision-maker.”

Cyrus nudged him in the side, looking up at him in protest. “Hey, I don’t ride any of the rollercoasters! I have to compensate _somehow_ , and it’s not _my_ fault they have so much deliciousness in one place.”

The other boy laughed again. “Come on,” he said, grabbing Cyrus’s arm and dragging him over to the food stand. The sole action made Cyrus feel out of breath, which he chalked up to just him being out of shape and that it was _not_ in relation to TJ’s hand gripping his arm. (He still hadn’t let go.)

“I’ll take an order of Fried Oreos, a funnel cake, a large cheese fry, and a small bag of cotton candy,” TJ told the food vendor. He (finally) pulled away from Cyrus then, grabbing his wallet and counting on his fingers before handing the vendor a stack of bills. Cyrus felt his eyes widen and jaw drop; TJ was getting all of _that_ ? Specifically, _for him_?

Cyrus continued to gape at him in shock as the vendor slid all their food onto the counter space. “What?” TJ asked, a small grin on his face as he held out the bag of cotton candy for the other boy to take.

He took it, along with a steaming plate of cheese fries while TJ carried the Oreos and the funnel cake. _Hot, hot, hot_ , he thought as he followed TJ over to a picnic table. “You didn’t have to get all of that, _or_ pay for it!” Cyrus exclaimed, but he wasn’t mad. If anything, he was the complete opposite. Awed, _delighted_ that someone would do something so nice for _him_ , especially someone like TJ.

“It’s not a big deal, Underdog,” TJ laughed, sitting down at the picnic table. He set their food down with a grace that Cyrus knew he’d never possess; it was a miracle the plate of cheese fries in his hand hadn’t toppled over on his short trip over here. Cyrus sat down across from him after unsteadily setting down the fries and the bag of cotton candy. “All the money I spent would’ve gone towards tickets for rides, anyway. Plus, I had a feeling if I didn’t, we would’ve been there all night while we tried to decide.”

Cyrus liked the sound of _we_ for whatever reason. “Thank you,” he smiled gratefully, unlooping the camera from around his neck and setting it on the bench space next to him.

TJ smiled back. “Of course.”

It didn’t take long for them to dig into their food. They split everything in half—two fried Oreos each and half of the funnel cake and fries. By the time they finished eating, Cyrus was even _more_ grateful for the fact that he didn’t like rides—he was pretty sure if he rode one right now, he would throw up (even more than he normally would’ve.) The only thing left over from their feast was the small bag of cotton candy TJ had purchased, which they carried around and snacked on as they walked around the square.

“So, what do you usually do when you come here?” TJ asked as they made their rounds along the pavement. They hadn’t been walking long, having just thrown away their trash and started strolling around the square. “You know, besides being a third wheel,” he teased, nudging Cyrus.

He laughed, making him wince in pain. “Don’t make me laugh. I’m pretty sure if I do, I’m going to throw up and that would _not_ be pretty,” he said, making a smile work its way on TJ’s face. “And I didn’t do anything really. I used to just sit on the sidelines while all my friends rode whatever contraptions are here.” He didn’t mind that so much; he loved just the feeling of being there. He didn’t need rides or carnival games to make that time enjoyable.

“Really? That’s all?” TJ asked with a raise of his eyebrows. “That sounds so—”

“Boring?” Cyrus interrupted.

He shook his head. “I was going to say lonely.”

Cyrus’s eyes faltered from TJ’s, consequently falling to the ground. “Oh. It did get pretty lonely...but it’s not now.”

He didn’t dare look, but he was pretty sure TJ was smiling; he could hear it in his voice. “It’s not?”

This time, Cyrus glanced up. “No,” he confirmed. “I haven’t met a single person who’s been willing to skip the rollercoaster thing for me before now, so it’s _automatically_ better.”

TJ’s mirthful eyes caught his own, and for a few seconds, that was the only thing between them: unwavering eye contact. Then Cyrus turned away, that squirmy feeling making his chest feel itchy. “So, what do _you_ usually do here?” They were still making their way around the square; by now, they had made a complete loop and were right back to where they’d started.

The other boy shrugged, pinching a piece of blue cotton candy off one of the puff balls and letting it dissolve in his mouth. “I don’t know. Hung out with friends. Played games and rode rides. Pretty normal stuff, I guess.” He paused before adding, “I like this better, though.”

“What part? The not riding rollercoasters or the not playing games?” Cyrus joked self-deprecatingly. He couldn’t possibly imagine how walking around aimlessly was better than all the fun stuff TJ had just listed (no matter _how_ terrifying it seemed to _him_.)

TJ rolled his eyes, though it wasn’t in annoyance. He tore off another piece of cotton candy as he said, “All of it. I like that I don’t have to do a bunch of stuff to enjoy myself. Usually, I’m so focused on doing _everything_ that I’m not really having fun. So, yeah, I like this better.”

Even though Cyrus didn’t fully understand how this—walking around in circles and eating cotton candy—was better than all the fun stuff TJ _used_ to do, the words made him smile. “Well, I’m glad you think so because this _definitely_ beats all my previous visits out of the park.”

TJ laughed as they both reached for another piece of cotton candy, making their hands bump together in the process. A second passed, and then two, and TJ finally pulled away, mumbling an apology under his breath. Embarrassment flushed Cyrus’s cheeks; he was sure his hand was sticky and gross and—why was he so worrying so much, anyway? His face scrunched up in puzzlement before he shook his head as if to rid himself of the confusion. For one night, he just wanted to not _think_ . “We should _probably_ get something to drink,” Cyrus said after a moment in an attempt to cut the tension.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he said. He began to pull out his wallet again, but Cyrus stopped him. Was he planning on blowing his whole paycheck on Cyrus tonight or _what_?

“ _I’ll_ get it this time,” he said, a smile playing on his lips as he spotted a vendor selling drinks. He took a pair of bills out of his pocket before walking over and handing them to the vendor, exchanging the dollar bills for two bottles of water. “Here,” he said, giving one to TJ while untwisting the cap on his own bottle and taking a big gulp.

TJ took it, peeling the paper off with his fingernail. “So, where do you want to go now?”

Cyrus thought back to their previous conversation about what they usually did at the town festival; there was _one_ thing he’d left out, but he’d been afraid TJ would find it stupid. After debating in his head for a few seconds, he decided he’d give it a shot. “Well, earlier when I told you I didn’t really do anything here besides sit on the sidelines, that wasn’t _entirely_ true.” TJ raised his eyebrows in question. “There’s this...place I’ve been going the past couple years. You know, when I was busy third-wheeling and everything,” he explained. “I can show you if you want. _But_ you’ll have to trust me not to get us lost.”

The other boy grinned, raising his shoulders up and down in a shrug. “All right, I’m game. Lead the way, Underdog.”

Cyrus glanced around at where they were; it was pretty close to where he wanted to take TJ, only a few minutes walk at the most. “Okay, let’s go,” he said, and in a burst of bravery, he grabbed TJ by the wrist and tugged him across the square. He was pretty sure his cheeks were flushed as they reached the other side of the pavement, letting go of him once they reached the grass. “It’s right through here,” he explained while gesturing to a thicket of trees, trying not to let his voice quiver with embarrassment.

“If you say so,” TJ quipped, lips curving upwards. Cyrus smiled, too, turning back around and weaving in out of the trees. A few times, he was afraid they were lost, but then he spotted a familiar tree he remembered from his last visit here—one that sloped almost horizontally with lots of carvings on it. Slowly, they kept moving forward until they reached a clearing—in it was a small playground, one complete with slides, house-like structures, and a swingset. Picnic tables and benches were scattered sporadically around the place. “This is where I sneak off to every year when my friends are busy doing stuff,” he explained with a half-smile. “I’m usually feeling pretty down about myself when I come here, but swinging makes me feel better!” He took a glance at TJ; his expression was unreadable. Maybe he’d been wrong to take him here; he should’ve listened to himself, this _was_ stupid. “Sorry, I know it’s probably super lame and everything—”

“I haven’t been on a swing in years,” TJ interrupted, sparing him a glance. He was smiling, the dimple in his left cheek showing. Cyrus was almost tempted to poke it, but managed to restrain himself. “Are we just going to stand here or what? Come on,” he laughed, dragging Cyrus over to the swings by the wrist. He stumbled behind him, setting his camera and their refreshments on one of the nearby benches.

Slowly, Cyrus sat down, letting his legs sway forwards and backwards until he was swinging. He didn’t let himself get too high up—for one, he was afraid of heights, and two, he’d just eaten a bunch and didn’t want to make his stomach uneasy (well, _more_ uneasy than it already felt; for some reason, it kept stirring with this weird fluttery feeling he wasn’t quite used to.) He was glad he’d taken TJ here after all; he didn’t seem to think it was stupid. In fact—as Cyrus glanced over at him—TJ looked happy; he was whooping and laughing as he swung high in the air, his feet practically touching the leaves on one of the trees hovering overhead. Cyrus almost got sick just _watching_ him, he was going that fast. At some point, he jumped out of the swing, the gravel crunching underneath his feet as he landed. “What are you humming?” he asked in amusement, brushing the dirt from his jeans.

Cyrus stopped swinging, letting his feet drag against the ground. He hadn’t been aware he’d been humming, but if he had, it must’ve been his swing song. “Oh. It’s a song I made up about the swings,” he admitted, kicking the rock-covered ground. He hoped the embarrassment he felt didn’t show, though he knew it probably was; he wasn’t exactly the best at hiding his feelings sometimes.

“Does it have any words?” TJ asked with teasing in his voice, sitting back down on the swing and casually swaying.

He considered telling him for a moment. If TJ hadn’t been weirded out by the swings, he doubted he’d find his song stupid. He took a breath before singing, “Legs go up, legs go down, that’s how you make the swing go ‘round. Drag your feet, you go slow, the more you drag, the less you go.”

Cyrus let himself peek at TJ, watching his lips twitch at the corners. “Nice song. Though it looks like you’re not doing the first thing very well,” he said, gesturing to Cyrus.

He looked down at himself, his swing at a complete stop. “You probably won’t find this surprising given...well, _everything_ about me, but I’m kind of afraid of heights,” Cyrus admitted.

TJ got up from his swing, releasing the metal chains from his grasp. “Here, let me help you with that,” he offered, moving behind Cyrus. He was pretty sure he tensed as TJ put his hands on his shoulders, the uneasy feeling in his stomach only strengthening.

“Do you _want_ me to throw up?” Cyrus teased, though he was sure it came out more nervous than anything. He _really_ didn’t like heights.

“Oh, come on, I won’t make you go _that_ high,” he teased, shoving Cyrus gently forward and making his feet swing up, up, up.

“Woah!” he exclaimed. His heart was practically beating out of his chest; the funny thing was he felt more exhilarated than scared at the moment, the thrill in his chest rising higher than the fear. He swung back again like a pendulum, and then TJ was there, pushing him forward again. “Okay, no more, no more, now I’m _really_ afraid I’m going to get sick,” he said, feeling his stomach clench as he rose up once more.

TJ let out a laugh before grabbing the chains of Cyrus’s swing to slow him down. “ _Maybe_ we should sit down for a little bit. I don’t want you getting sick on my watch,” he teased.

Cyrus dragged his feet against the ground and stood up, feeling a little bit wobbly but otherwise fine. “That was...actually fun,” he said in surprise. They both sat down on the bench they’d put their belongings on, shoving their stuff to the side and sitting in the middle of it. “You know, besides the part where I was afraid I was going to throw up,” he added with a laugh.

He smirked, unscrewing the cap on his water bottle. “I’m glad. That you had fun _and_ that you didn’t puke. Somehow, I don’t think that’d be very festive for a festival.”

Cyrus laughed silently, glancing up at the sky. It was starting to get dark; stars and pitch black sky were peeking through the canopy of trees above them. It was his favorite kind of night, warm with a nice breeze flowing through the air. He glanced over at TJ—he was in the middle of taking a drink from his water bottle, now half-empty. He wondered if he should ask him the question that had been lurking in the back of his mind all night—heck, the past week and a half. Before he could think of how to form the question, he was blurting out, “Do you still think you’ll drop journalism once you get back on the basketball team?”

TJ widened his eyes, the shape of them big and round as he set down his water bottle. “I don’t know,” he admitted slowly. “Why?”

“I just…,” Cyrus began, then glanced away, his thoughts blurring in a rushed panic. Why had he blurted it out like that? Now his mind was running a mile a minute as he tried to form a coherent explanation. So much for a night of no thinking. “I think you should stay,” he said after a moment.

The other boy smiled, the lightness of it reaching his eyes. “You do?” he asked in disbelief.

The clear surprise in TJ’s voice shocked him; he thought that had been pretty obvious. Maybe TJ was just oblivious. “I mean, yeah,” Cyrus said, turning to look at him now despite how vulnerable he felt. “You obviously care about it a little bit, otherwise you wouldn’t put so much effort into your pages.”

TJ sucked in a deep breath, long and hard, before nodding. “You’re right,” he sighed. “Is that...the only reason you think I should stay?”

The question left Cyrus dumb-founded. _Was_ that the only reason he wanted TJ to stay? He shook his head mostly to himself; he knew it wasn’t. He wanted him there for other reasons, too, whatever they were. “No,” he said, hoping what he was about to say didn’t come out like word vomit. “It’s...better with you there.”

“How?” TJ pressed on, clearly disbelieving of this fact. He could see the doubt swimming in his eyes, the arch of his eyebrows displaying his muddled confusion.

“For starters, I don’t have so much work to do,” Cyrus teased, lightly knocking him with his shoulder. TJ snorted, which was really more of a puff of breath through his nostrils. “I don’t know, just...you know how I told you I didn’t have any friends in there before?” He nodded, seemingly recalling the memory. “Well, now I do!” he exclaimed, a big smile on his face. “I’m not really sure how to explain it, but...it’s better. You make it better.”

TJ grinned, then glanced down at his lap. “Well,” he said, taking a long pause. He looked at Cyrus as he said, “I guess we’ll have to see what happens.”

* * *

About an hour later, TJ and Cyrus found themselves walking around the square again. Their cotton candy and water bottles were long gone at that point—they were now occupying their time with just talking instead of anything else. After a while, they passed the Ferris Wheel for what seemed to be the billionth time that night, except this time, Cyrus spotted a few familiar faces. Andi, Walker, Jonah, and Buffy stood at the back of the line, hands locked or an arm slung across the other’s shoulders as they waited for their turn. “Hey, guys!” Cyrus called out.

First, Andi turned around, then Buffy, then Jonah and Walker. “Cyrus!” Andi exclaimed in surprise.

“I’m going to throw away our trash,” TJ said quickly before walking off. Cyrus frowned (mainly because they didn’t have any trash to throw away), but brushed it off when Andi threw her arms around him.

“I thought you weren’t staying!” Andi said, raising an eyebrow at him as she pulled away.

He smiled sheepishly in response. It wasn’t like he’d lied to them or anything; his plans had just unexpectedly changed! “I wasn’t,” he promised. “But I bumped into TJ and now we’re hanging out!”

Buffy’s face screwed up in confusion. “I thought you were trying to avoid him since he’s leaving journalism in a few months.”

“I was, but…,” he trailed off. He wasn’t sure exactly how to explain it, so he said, “Now I’m not!”

His friends exchanged confused looks (Jonah looking the most perplexed, though this wasn’t concerning since he _always_ kind of looked like that.) Andi looked like she was going to bombard him with more questions, but then TJ was standing next to Cyrus again and she didn’t say anything. No one did, really, until Walker stuck out his hand and said, “Hey, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Walker.”

TJ eyed his hand warily before reaching out to shake it. “TJ,” he said, only sounding mildly standoffish. Maybe it was because Walker didn’t talk to him with the same coldness that Andi and Buffy did.

An awkward silence filled the air; luckily, Jonah finally broke it (he’d never been one for awkward silences) when he said, “Anyway, we should probably get back in line. It looks like the ride is starting up again.” Sure enough, the line was moving forward, the number of people there becoming fewer and fewer.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Cyrus smiled at his friends. They gave him one last wave before disappearing into the crowd of people waiting to get on the Ferris Wheel.

“So...you want to keep walking around?” TJ asked, but Cyrus didn’t really hear him. His gaze was fixated on the big contraption in front of them: the Ferris Wheel. It didn’t look as scary at night, weirdly enough, which was probably due to the vibrant colors lighting the whole thing up. It almost looked...inviting. “What are you doing?” he questioned, nudging Cyrus lightly with his shoulder.

Cyrus glanced away, focusing his gaze on TJ. The lights from the Ferris Wheel had cast different colors on his face, his skin washed in green, then blue, then purple. “Nothing. I was just looking at the Ferris Wheel,” he admitted.

“Oh...does looking at it bother you? ‘Cause we can go somewhere else if you want—”

“No, it’s not that,” Cyrus said, shaking his head. Well, not entirely, anyway, because he _was_ scared of the Ferris Wheel, but not of looking at it. “I...I don’t know. I just wish I wasn’t scared of rollercoasters. Or of most things.”

“Do you _want_ to ride the Ferris Wheel?” TJ asked, voice full of surprise.

Cyrus’s eyes widened; he hadn’t really been _considering_ it, but, yeah, he did kind of want to. If only the very thought didn’t terrify him to his core. “No, I _couldn’t_. I’d probably die or throw up or...I don’t know! Bad things would happen!”

TJ looked at him, then up at the Ferris Wheel. His face was cast in orange as he said, “What if I ride it with you?”

The suggestion made Cyrus’s heart leap out of his chest; part of this was definitely due to the fact that he’d have to ride a rollercoaster and that he was afraid of heights, but the other part was due to...something else. Something he didn’t know the meaning of, something he didn’t really feel like thinking about but was definitely in relation to TJ. “You’d do that?” There’s a silent _for me_ at the end of that sentence, one that Cyrus wasn’t sure if TJ heard.

TJ grinned, like this was obvious. (Again, it was _not_.) “Of course. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?”

The word _friend_ brought both a smile and a pang to Cyrus’s chest for whatever reason, which confused him even more. All he’d wanted was to be TJ’s friend (which made him _beyond_ happy), but something still felt off. He brushed it away; he told himself he wasn’t going to overthink anything tonight and that was _exactly_ what he planned on doing!

So that’s what he did. He took one look at the Ferris Wheel looming overhead and decided he was _not_ going to consider every possible risk, every bad thing that could come with this. He took a big gulp and turned to TJ, forcing himself to nod. “Okay.”

A slow smile reached across TJ’s face. “You can do this. If you can face your fear of the swings, the Ferris Wheel will be no big deal.” He appreciated the fact that TJ was trying to reassure him, but all he felt was pain-strickening fear starting in his chest and swallowing him from head to toe. “I’m going to buy some tickets, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Cyrus couldn’t give him more than a nod before he stepped into the line. TJ squeezed his shoulder once before disappearing into the crowd, off buying tickets for the contraption they were about to ride. _Why_ had he agreed to this? Going higher up on the swings than he usually did was _one_ thing, but getting on a round metal death trap two-hundred feet in the air was a _whole_ different thing he didn’t want to touch. Looking at the big wheel in front of him, he didn’t know what had mesmerized him in the first place. Now, all he saw was a hunk of metal that would inevitably cause his demise. (Was he being dramatic and probably overreacting? Yes. Did he care? No.) Maybe it wasn’t too late to change his mind…

But then TJ was walking back towards him, his smile practically reaching the sky, and he knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t back out now, not when TJ looked so _excited_ about the fact that he was doing this. So he feigned a smile and ignored the painful thumping in his ribs as TJ sidled up next to him. “Here, you need three for the ride,” he smiled, pressing a few folded-up tickets into Cyrus’s palm. His eyes seemed to search Cyrus’s for a few seconds before he asked, “Are you nervous?”

Cyrus gulped. “A little,” he said, which was practically the understatement of the year. He wasn’t sure how to tell TJ that he was practically frightened for his life without sounding whiny and lame.

Luckily, he didn’t have to. “It’s fine if you’re nervous, Underdog,” TJ smiled. “But I’ll be with you the whole way. Trust me, nothing bad is going to happen, okay?”

“Okay,” Cyrus said weakly. He knew he’d be lying if he said that didn’t make him feel just a little bit better, but he didn’t want to get too comfortable with the idea of dancing with danger (even if it _was_ on his bucket list.)

The line shuffled forward, little by little until they were at the front of the line. Shakily, Cyrus handed his tickets to the ride operator, TJ doing the same (and giving Cyrus a gentle push forward when he wouldn’t move.) Together, they stepped onto the ride (Cyrus wobbling all over the place, TJ standing steadily.) “You want me to get on first?” TJ asked.

Cyrus nodded fervently. Not that it’d help him all that much when the ride actually began moving, but he’d prefer to not be trapped on the inside. “Please.”

TJ climbed inside the cart, patting the empty space beside him. “I promise it won’t bite,” he said, a teasing glint in his eyes.

Carefully, shakily, Cyrus put one leg in, then wobbled a little and held onto TJ’s shoulder for support. Then he pulled his other foot inside the cart and sat down, squeezing in next to TJ. “See, the hardest part is already over. Now all you have to do is sit here and try not to get sick.”

Even though Cyrus had eaten hours ago, the fact that he could throw up hadn’t escaped him. “Right…,” he said unsurely.

Slowly, TJ pulled the safety bar over their laps, allowing it to click in place before resting his hands on top of the rubber. “You’ll be fine, I promise,” he said, softer this time. “And even if you _aren’t_ , I’ll be right here the whole time. Okay?”

Though he was still overwhelmed with fright, the reassuring tone of TJ’s voice definitely helped calm Cyrus down a little. “Okay,” he said, hoping his voice sounded as solid as it did in his head.

The ride slowly inched upwards, and immediately, Cyrus’s stomach lurched. “Don’t worry, they’re just letting everyone else on the ride,” TJ explained. “It probably won’t start for a few more minutes.”

“Oh, right,” he said, a nervous laugh falling from his lips. He didn’t dare look down; his fear of heights was already getting to him. It didn’t exactly help that they were _suspended in the air_. Being in mid-air like this was too much to focus on; at least when the ride actually started moving, it’d give him something else to worry about.

“Here, let’s take a selfie,” TJ suggested, sliding out his phone from the pocket of his sweatshirt. He curled his fingers around the edges, swiping on the camera and flipping the lens so it was facing them. Cyrus scooted closer to TJ (which he was surprised was possible considering they were squeezed side-by-side into the seat) and offered a weak smile. “Say cheese,” TJ said jokingly.

“Cheese,” Cyrus said, smiling through gritted teeth as TJ snapped the picture.

The ride ticked up again, slowly, slowly, slowly before screeching to a stop. They were higher up now than before, the realization making Cyrus take a gulp. “Here, let’s do a silly one,” TJ said quickly, making a goofy expression in front of the camera.

Cyrus was fully aware that TJ was trying to distract him from the fact that they were fifty feet up in the air, which was about fifty feet more than he’d like to be off the ground. Even still, it helped distract him just enough to make him feel like he wasn’t going to throw up from nerves. (Though he wasn’t entirely convinced that it still wasn’t going to happen. The night was young and Cyrus didn’t want to count his luck quite yet just in case he jinxed himself somehow.) So he leaned closer to TJ (his head was basically on his shoulder now, a fact that made his stomach churn uneasily) and crossed his eyes for the picture, not noticing that TJ had put bunny ears on him until after the deed was done.

“Ha, ha,” Cyrus said, managing to roll his eyes playfully at TJ. Before he could shoot back a reply, the ride screeched again, gears grinding as it moved upwards. This time, it didn’t stop after a few seconds, but kept rising, higher, higher, higher, making Cyrus squeeze his eyes shut and grab the safety bar. Well, at least he’d _thought_ it was the safety bar, but instead of the worn rubber he’d expected to find, he felt the smooth hand of the boy next to him. Immediately, his stomach clenched even more, and he pulled his hand back and away to rest in his lap.

Cyrus felt himself go back, down, up, and around a few times, the knot in his stomach getting tighter with every rotation. Then he felt something nudge his hand—TJ. “Look up, Cyrus,” he said. Even though he had his eyes squeezed shut, he could still hear the smile in his voice. “I promise it’s not as bad as you think.”

Slowly, hesitantly, he did, only opening them to slits. He couldn’t see much besides the pitch black of sky stretching out ahead of him, and that wasn’t really so scary. He opened them wider until he was seeing normally; they were headed back up to the top of the Ferris Wheel and moving a lot slower than Cyrus had thought (his imagination tended to run a little wild when he was in the throes of worry.) It was actually kind of...beautiful. He could practically see the whole town from this height, everyone on the ground below him looking like a swarm of ants (giant ants, but still.) As terrifying as the prospect of being so high up was to him, it was equally as thrilling, the feeling he’d had on the swings magnified times a hundred, even a thousand (which may have possibly been due to the boy squeezed in the seat next to him…)

He cast that thought aside, putting it up to no more than the terrors and thrills of the situation he was in. They were moving back around, closing in on the ground before rising up to the peak of the wheel again. Cyrus felt like if he reached up just high enough, he could touch the stars.

After another minute, the ride began slowing to a stop, and their cart screeched to a halt near the bottom. “Why are we stopping?” Cyrus frowned. Suddenly, he felt a stab of worry in his gut. “ _Please_ tell me the ride’s not broken.” Oh, no, what if they were stuck here all night and—

TJ laughed, shaking his head. “You worry too much, Underdog. We’re stopping because the ride’s over.”

“ _Over_?” he asked in disbelief. “It only lasted a few minutes!”

The ride began moving again until it was their turn to get off. Slowly, they both stood up and walked through the exit, Cyrus feeling a little dizzy and wobbly (which was a clear improvement from puking ten seconds into the ride), but otherwise fine. “See, I told you it’d be okay,” TJ smirked, sitting down on the curb of the sidewalk.

Cyrus did the same, hoping it would dispel some of his dizziness. “ _Okay_?” he questioned. “That was exhilarating!”

“I’m glad you liked it,” TJ said. He was grinning, his teeth gleaming like the lights on the Ferris Wheel. “Maybe next year we can get you to ride the merry-go-round.”

Cyrus began to respond, but faltered, and all because of those three little words. _Maybe next year_ . He liked the permanence of the words, or at least the long-termity of them. The possibility of spending the next festival with TJ was more than he’d ever hoped for, and he could practically feel the smile fighting its way onto his face. “ _That_ will take a lot of effort to accomplish. I threw up on a merry-go-round once in seventh grade and I haven’t gone near one since,” he explained.

“We’ll have to see about that, Underdog,” TJ grinned.

Right at that moment, Cyrus felt his pocket buzz, and he pulled his phone to check the notification. A text from his mom (his biological one, not his step-mother) telling him he needed to get home soon. He felt his smile dim in the slightest as he shot back a reply, tucking his phone back into his pocket with less gusto than before. “I have to go,” he explained, a tinge of sadness tainting his words.

“Oh,” TJ said. Cyrus could see him visibly frowning as he tucked his hands into his sweatshirt pocket (which made him feel a lot happier than he’d ever care to admit.)

“But, um, thank you. For hanging out with me and everything. I know it probably wasn’t the _easiest_ thing to do considering I’m afraid of, well, everything, but I had a lot better night thanks to you,” Cyrus admitted. He wondered if it was taking on the swings _and_ the Ferris Wheel all in one night that was giving him the courage to tell TJ this.

“You made mine a lot better, too.” A beat passed where they both just stared at each other, then two, and Cyrus glanced down at the ground. “Goodnight, Underdog,” he smiled. The words came out in a tone of softness, one that Cyrus wasn’t used to hearing from TJ but one he simultaneously wanted to hear more of.

“Goodnight, Teej.” He smiled back at him; the corners of his mouth felt like they’d been pricked by needles because of the constant grin that’d been on his face all night.

They met each other’s gaze for a few seconds before Cyrus stood up and left, face feeling like prickly heat as he did so.

The walk to his car was a short one, the drive home even less so. He felt like he was floating on a magical cloud from his wonderful night on the town. That feeling stayed with him even as he was crawling into bed and turning off the light. Because even as he lied there, eyes closed but body buzzing, he couldn’t help but think that he _definitely_ wouldn’t mind spending the next fair with TJ.


	8. Chapter 8

The Friday after the festival left Cyrus and TJ sitting at the back of the classroom the way they always did. Cyrus was finally getting used to his new seat since TJ had accidentally taken his his first day, and though he was a creature of habit, he found himself getting accustomed to his new spot.

Fridays in journalism always meant writing a full-page journal entry, something that kept the class silent and busy for the most part as they meandered their way through each paragraph. Writing in his notebook was usually a breeze for Cyrus, ever the chatterbox, but for some reason, he was stumped on this particular Friday afternoon. He’d already written a full two paragraphs about all the work he’d completed this week—and _long_ paragraphs they were—but that still left him with half a blank page. He clicked the end of his pen in thought, trying to think of _something_ to write.

_Click. Unclick. Click. Unclick. Click—_

“Cyrus,” TJ said. Cyrus stopped to look over at him; he was three-fourths of the way done with his journal and still going. “You good?”

He nodded, even though TJ was looking down at his notebook and couldn’t see him. “Yeah. I’m just _stuck_ is all. I’ve written everything I could possibly think of to say.” He let his pen clink against the table, dropping his chin in his hand glumly.

This time, TJ looked up at him, face full of the amusement that was there more often than not these days. “There’s _nothing_ else you could write about outside of journalism?” he asked, eyebrows suspended in disbelief.

“I mean, there is, but I have _four_ therapists at home, Teej. I don’t need Mr. Spier worried about me, too,” he joked. But that did give him an idea. Maybe he could write about the pictures he’d taken at the festival! He’d kind of forgotten about them in the whirlwind that had been the Shadyside fair, a night of unexpected events (and with one TJ Kippen, he might add.) It was still at least somewhat journalism-related—not that it _had_ to be or anything, but Cyrus preferred to keep it that way—and it’d probably fill out the rest of the page. “Never mind, I _think_ I have an idea.”

“If you say so,” TJ said, smirking at him before going back to writing in his loopy half-cursive.

Cyrus picked his pen up, positioning it between his fingers before poising it over his notebook paper. He thought about the festival for a moment, trying to remember everything he could. As he recalled the memory, the words formed in his head and flowed into his pen, the letters spilling out one by one in blue ink.

Sooner than he expected, he was squeezing his thoughts on the end of the page; strangely enough, he’d had a lot to say about the festival, definitely a lot more than he’d realized. He considered writing a couple more sentences in the margins before deciding against it, dotting the end of his sentence with a flourish and smiling at the filled page.

His hand was cramping as he dropped his pen, looking much more like a claw than it should’ve, and he’d somehow stained his fingertips in blue. But it was finished, and that was just one less thing on his list for Cyrus to worry about.

Cyrus flexed his fingers, skimming the page to read what he’d written. The first two paragraphs were okay, just about the story ideas and page designs he’d done for the week. Then he reached the other half of the page. It started out solidly enough; he explained which pictures he’d taken and how he would be using them for the front page. But after the first few sentences, the story fell away from that completely and somehow, he’d ended up rambling about hanging out with TJ for the rest of the page.

All Cyrus could do for the next several moments was stare at his journal; how had that even _happened_ ? He didn’t remember writing about TJ or anything in particular; all he knew was the words were spilling out of him before he even knew what they were, practically begging to be out in the open. Which was...weird, but not the first time he’d felt that way. It had never been about a person—other than his short-lived crush on Jonah—and it had _definitely_ never been about someone like TJ.

He wondered if he should scrap it and start over, but the small remainder of class he had left was dwindling, and besides, it was normal to talk about your friends, right? And it wasn’t like Mr. Spier would probably think much of it—sometimes, Cyrus swore his teacher could rival Jonah in the oblivious department. Sighing internally, he snapped his notebook shut and turned it in, hoping that Mr. Spier wouldn’t think anything of it and set it on his desk.

As he sat back down, TJ shut his own notebook and looked up at him, amusement gleaming in his eyes. “So, what’d you end up writing about?”

Cyrus blushed at the question, not even daring himself to look at TJ. “Nothing much. Just everything we did this week. You?” He hoped his voice didn’t sound as squeaky to TJ as it did in his own ears.

TJ shrugged, nonchalantly picking the skin at his thumb. “Same as you. Though I’m sure I did a lot less work than you did,” he joked.

Cyrus smiled, shaking his head modestly. In comparison to _last_ issue and all the work he had to do (doing double his usual work load was _not_ easy), this issue was a breeze. “You’re still getting in the hang of it. But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll have _plenty_ of work to do in no time.”

He chuckled from beside him, the sound resonating in Cyrus’s chest and making him feel warm and fuzzy. With the smile lingering on his face, he opened Photoshop and began pulling up the pictures he’d taken from the festival. “Are you going again tonight?” TJ asked.

Cyrus’s eyebrows pulled together in confusion as he cropped the picture he’d taken of the food stands. “Going where?” he asked.

“To the festival.”

He shook his head. “As much as I love the magic of the fair, I _think_ a second trip would be risking a lot for me.” Besides, even if he _did_ want to go tonight, there was no way it would be as wonderful as Wednesday night had been with TJ by his side. “I’m actually going to The Spoon later. It’s where I usually hang out with my friends.”

“Yeah, I know,” TJ said. A ray of hope shot through Cyrus’s chest, because why did _TJ_ know that? And a beat too late came the thought—and why did he _want_ him to? He shook his head to himself, feeling more confused than hopeful now. TJ seemed to read his mind, because he said, “They invited me to go that one time, remember?”

The small hope in his chest dissolved almost entirely at his statement, but his confusion didn’t. _That_ was something that needed a lot more than a single sentence to completely eliminate. “Oh,” he said, sounding a lot more disappointed than he should’ve (and for a reason he couldn’t quite explain.) “Right, I remember.” He tucked his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans; a part of him wondered if maybe he should ask TJ to go to The Spoon with him again. He was slowly coming out of his guarded shell a little bit when it came to his friends, and surely they would be nicer to TJ after he hung out with Cyrus at the fair. Before he could burst his small bubble of courage, he blurted out, “You should come with us this time!”

TJ raised his eyebrows, a few beats of silence stifling between them, and Cyrus began to wonder if maybe he’d made the wrong decision. “I mean, you don’t _have_ to or anything...I just thought you might want to and I kind of owe you—”

“Owe me for what?” TJ asked, his nose crinkling.

“For hanging out with me at the fair,” he reminded him. Just the memory of it made the excitement spiral upwards in his chest, feeling as warm and thick as maple syrup.

“The last thing you do is owe me, Underdog. I think you’re forgetting that I _wanted_ to hang out with you.” He said this with a friendly nudge, making the smile return to Cyrus’s face twice as megawatt.

“In that case...do you want to hang out with me and my friends at The Spoon?” It came out quickly and in a rush, but not as much as it had the first time. There was a new tone to his voice, one he’d never really been too familiar with in his sixteen years of life. A layer of confidence.

He smiled. “Are you sure your friends won’t mind? I _kind of_ get the feeling they don’t like me very much.”

“I think they feel that way about you, too,” Cyrus joked. TJ snorted, leaning back in his chair. “I’d say we have a sixty-forty chance of them being okay with it.”

TJ laughed this time, rolling his eyes. “I’ll take it.”

They spent the rest of the class period talking while Cyrus finished up the pictures he was working on, cropping and grayscaling them to the perfection. It was only a few minutes before the bell rang that Cyrus remembered something. “I forgot,” he said, turning to TJ. “All of my friends have clubs for an hour after school today.”

“That’s no big deal, right? We can just hang out for an hour,” TJ said.

Cyrus’s face burned, a blush the color of apples surely blooming in his cheeks. “Yeah, I guess that’d be okay,” he said. It wasn’t like he hadn’t stayed behind school hours in Mr. Spier’s room before—but he’d always been alone. The thought of staying behind with TJ made him feel squirmy and nervous, and so frustratedly so. It was just TJ after all. But almost as an afterthought, his mind echoed with, _he’s not_ just _TJ_ . Which was, in all respects, true, and Cyrus knew it, but knowing it and knowing _why_ were two completely separate things.

 _Cyrus, focus_! he told himself. He cleared his throat even though there wasn’t anything in it, then stood up in his seat. “I’m going to go ask Mr. Spier.”

TJ got up with him, following him to the front of the room without a word. Mr. Spier was sitting at his desk, finishing grading everyone’s journals in black pen. He seemed lost in his head for a moment, that was until TJ tapped his desk with the tips of his fingernails, and his head shot straight up. He was smiling as usual, though it looked a little foggy, like he’d been interrupted mid-thought. “Hey, boys. What can I help you with?” he beamed, setting his black pen on the desk.

Cyrus looked at TJ, then back at Mr. Spier, feeling nervous about asking what he’d came to ask despite having done so multiple times before. “I was just wondering if me and TJ could stay behind to work on our pages? It’d only be for an hour and I thought I’d give TJ some more training—”

Before he could even finish his sentence, Mr. Spier was waving him off with an eccentric smile. “I love the dedication, Cyrus! Feel free! I have a meeting until four, anyway, so it works out perfectly.”

Even though he’d gotten the answer he’d wanted, it didn’t make him feel any less nervous. He supposed it was _one_ thing to be hanging out with TJ in a crowd of people, like in class or at the festival, but another when it was just the two of them alone. What if there was a lot of awkward silence he wouldn’t know how to fill? What if TJ realized just how boring he was without plenty of distractions and buffers to run interference?

“Great,” he said weakly, rubbing his suddenly-sweaty palms against his jeans. “Thanks, Mr. Spier.”

“Of course!” he smiled. “And while you’re up here...,” he paused for a second, digging through a stack of notebooks before finding both Cyrus’s and TJ’s, “I finished grading your journals if you want to take a look.” They both took the notebooks out of his hands. “It sounds like you had a lot of fun at the festival from what you both wrote in there.”

 _Both?_ Cyrus thought. He spared a glance at TJ, who had an equally-embarrassed look on his face. Before he met his eyes, Cyrus tore his gaze away and focused it on the notebook in his hands. TJ had written about the festival, too? But why did he lie about it? And why did Cyrus?

Before he could answer even one of those questions, the bell rang, and the other students in the room began stampeding out of the room. “Well, I’ll see you boys later,” Mr. Spier said, seemingly unaware of the sudden awkwardness between them. “Good luck!”

Cyrus gave him a weak smile as Spier left the room, leaving him and TJ alone.

Silence seemed to echo between them for a few awkward moments before TJ decidedly broke it. “So...I guess we have more work to do, huh?” Cyrus noticed his gaze was pointed more at the floor than him.

“It’ll make up for the hour we spent talking,” he said in attempt to clear the tension. TJ laughed, which was really more of a snort (like most of his laughs), and the awkwardness ceased.

Both of them sat back down, TJ pulling his pages up on the computer while Cyrus placed his pictures on the front page. He dragged the pictures around in their boxes until he was satisfied, smiling proudly once they were finished. _Now all I need is the story_ , he told himself.

Cyrus opened a new doc up on his computer and put his slug at the top (name, story and issue number, words assigned, and words written) before he began typing away, using the quotes he’d taken the day before from students who attended the fair. He was about half-way through writing it when TJ sighed frustratedly from beside him, furiously clicking his computer mouse. “TJ, _TJ_ ,” he said, putting a hand on his arm to stop him. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head profusely, shoving his computer mouse away from him. “I don’t know _how_ you do it,” he said, crossing his arms. It looked like he’d been working on the backhalf of his page designs, a catastrophe of text and picture boxes sporadically spewed along the page. “I’m never going to get the hang of this,” he groaned.

“It looks great, Teej, you just need to…,” he bit his lip, leaning over TJ to take control of his computer mouse, “rearrange it a little bit.” He fit each box to its designated spot, dragging text and picture boxes into their appropriate columns.

TJ turned to look at him, and it was then that Cyrus realized just how radiantly green his eyes were. Like mint leaves and lime and green apples and—maybe he was just _hungry_. Sucking in a breath, he pulled his arm away from the mouse and put it awkwardly back to his side.

If TJ felt as breathless and squirmy as Cyrus did, he didn’t show it. Instead, he sighed, but not with the same fiery frustration he’d been full of before. It sounded more relieved. “You’re right. Thanks, Cy.”

 _Cy._ It was only a shortened version of his name, just two letters, really, but that didn’t stop the weird little flip from playing out in his chest. “Of course. You know me, always happy to help.”

TJ smiled at him, and Cyrus was already smiling back as a buzz emitted from his phone. He glanced down at his phone, a text from the group chat with his friends lighting up on his screen. “Oh, that’s them,” he said. He turned away from TJ, and it wasn’t until that moment that he realized just how much he’d been angled towards him. “They want me to grab a table for them...if that’s okay with you.” The words came out almost in the form of a question.

In typical TJ fashion (or so it was becoming), he grinned. “Sounds like a plan.”

* * *

A quick trip to their lockers and a walk to The Spoon later, Cyrus found himself sitting at a table in the center of the restaurant. Even though he personally preferred to sit in a table along the walls and in the corners, his friends liked to sit smack dab in the middle where “all the action was happening” as Walker had so fondly put it. Cyrus had learned to like being so front and center; when they sat right in the middle of the chaos, he didn’t feel as invisible as he did at school or even in comparison to his friends. Maybe he was more behind-the-scenes material, but he also enjoyed being the center of attention from time to time.

Like right now. TJ was sitting across from him, listening to him ramble about something that had happened in one of his earlier classes. He was nodding along to everything he said, providing feedback or laughter where it was due. Cyrus liked how important he felt when he talked to TJ; not that he’d ever admit it, but sometimes, he felt like his problems were pushed to the background in favor of his friends’ issues. The spotlight always seemed to be on them and their problems while Cyrus’s tended to get cast aside or forgotten about. And it wasn’t like he completely faulted his friends for that—it wasn’t like he spoke up whenever they changed the subject from his problem to their’s, but it still hurt. But with TJ, all of his focus was on Cyrus and only Cyrus. (Not that he had another option considering it was just the two of them at the table, but still. It was a nice feeling.)

It was nearing four by the time the waitress brought six drinks and three baskets of baby taters around. Cyrus tasked himself with putting each drink in the appropriate spot, knowing his friends would sit in the same spots as they always did. “Water for me and Andi, Mountain Dew for Jonah, chocolate milk for Walker, Crush for Buffy, and Pepsi for you,” he said, sliding the last drink to TJ with a smile.

Rolling his eyes, TJ took ripped the top of a straw paper off and blew it at Cyrus, the wrapper poking him in the face and landing on the table.

Cyrus narrowed his eyes in puzzlement. “I will _never_ understand how to do that.”

TJ gave him a look of confusion. “You’ve never blown a straw wrapper at someone?”

He shook his head sadly. “I wasn’t allowed to use a straw until I was twelve because my mom was afraid I’d poke my eye out. Unfortunately, I’ve been deprived of the experience ever since.”

TJ laughed in disbelief. “Seriously, Underdog? Here.” He tore the paper off one end of Cyrus’s straw, handing him the exposed end. “Now aim and blow.”

Cyrus put the straw in his mouth and did as TJ told him. By some miraculous coincidence, he hit his target, the straw paper whizzing straight across the table and flying into TJ’s nose.

Cyrus laughed and TJ joined in, being louder than they probably should’ve because they earned themselves quite a few glares in the process. Most times, Cyrus would’ve shrunk back in his seat and kept quiet. But right now was not most times—he was with _TJ Kippen_ for starters, and even more surprisingly, he felt confident in himself, something that happened so rarely for him that it might’ve been considered a miracle.

Of course, like most good things, the feeling didn’t last long—before he knew it, the door opened and Buffy’s voice began carrying out through the diner, clearly in the middle of complaining about something that had happened at basketball practice. Immediately, Cyrus turned and lifted his head to look at them. For a few short, peaceful seconds, they still seemed to be caught up in their own conversation—that was until they noticed TJ sitting at their table and they all visibly froze. “Hey, guys…,” Cyrus said weakly. Their expressions were completely blank and devoid of any emotion. He could sense TJ tensing from across the table. “Is it okay if TJ joins us?”

Unsurprisingly, the first (and only) one to speak was Walker, sitting down next to TJ just like Cyrus had calculated. “Of course. The more, the merrier, right, guys?”

“Right…,” Jonah said, eyes narrowing in the slightest as he sat down next to Walker. Though he tended to be pretty friendly to everyone, Cyrus knew this was Buffy’s influence; he trusted her opinion above everyone else’s, which was unfortunate, in this case, considering TJ completely derailed every expectation and stereotype believed of him.

Andi and Buffy shared a glance, both of them looking guarded as they sat down in the empty spaces across from Walker and Jonah.

Tense silence lingered in the air for much longer than comfortable, and Cyrus’s urge to fill the quietness growing stronger. “So, what happened at basketball practice, Buffy? I didn’t get to hear the whole story,” he said.

TJ glanced at Buffy. “You play basketball?”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I’m the captain _and_ founder of the Grant High School girls’ basketball team or anything.”

“Really? That’s cool,” TJ said, sounding actually impressed. “I had no idea.”

“That’s surprising considering _your_ team’s favorite pastime is trashing the girls’ team,” she said, popping a greasy baby tater in her mouth. She said it like it was no big deal, but Cyrus knew that wasn’t true. When it came to Buffy—especially when it involved proving her athletic abilities—it was always a big deal.

“Buffy, TJ has nothing to do with that,” Cyrus said. “He’s not even really friends with those guys, right, Teej?”

He nodded, a slight frown on his face. “Yeah, trust me, I had _no_ part in it.” He paused, huffing a breath. “I’ll say something to them when I’m back on the team.”

For the first time since she’d arrived, Buffy spared him a glance. Cyrus could see the gears in her head turning, probably wondering whether she should believe him or not. “Good,” she said after a while. Cyrus could see her fighting a smile; he could tell she was at least mildly satisfied with what he’d said.

The tension mostly evaporated from there, his friends delving into the events of everything that had happened between fifth period and after-school clubs. Much to Cyrus’s own surprise, TJ was actually joining in on the conversation. He mostly just watched all of his friends talk for a few moments, in awe of how easily TJ fit into his never-changing group of friends, almost like he’d always been apart of it. He knew it was cliche, but it almost felt like TJ was the final thread in their steady tapestry of friendship, like he was their missing puzzle piece. He wasn’t exactly sure what his friends thought about it—for all he knew, they were still on the fence about the whole thing—but judging by appearances, they didn’t seem to mind him so much anymore. The realization filled Cyrus with a lot more happiness than it probably should’ve, but he didn’t let himself dwell on it too much. For once, all he wanted to do was focus on what was happening in front of him.

At some point, the group discussion split into multiple side conversations the way it always did, and Cyrus was finally given an opportunity to talk to TJ alone. “So…,” he said, voice low and eyebrows raised.

“ _So_ what?” TJ teased, taking a drink of his Pepsi. Cyrus shrugged and playfully rolled his eyes in response.

“ _So_ what’d you think?”

Now TJ was the one raising his eyebrows. “What do I think of your friends?” he questioned. Cyrus nodded, watching him take another sip of his soda. “They’re...actually pretty cool. I like them,” he admitted, keeping his voice down.

“I think they like you, too,” Cyrus told him.

TJ smiled, slow and wide. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Cyrus felt himself smiling, too; seeing TJ so happy was no longer a rare occasion to him, but that didn’t make his smile any less contagious.

They stayed like that for a few seconds, smiling, until TJ looked down at the empty basket of baby taters. “I should get going,” he said. “My mom’s getting off work in an hour and I told her I’d help do some chores.”

Cyrus nodded, his smile dimming just the slightest. “Oh, okay,” he said. TJ had made up an excuse the last time he’d been invited to The Spoon, but Cyrus knew he was telling the truth this time. “I’ll see you Monday?”

TJ smiled at him as he stood up. “See you Monday, Underdog.” He looked at everyone else at the table, all of them now looking at him with interest. “Bye, guys...thanks for letting me hang out.”

“It was no problem, man,” Walker grinned, giving him a high-five. Jonah shot him a big smile while Andi and Buffy settled for nodding at him in acknowledgement. TJ gave them a half-smile before grabbing his backpack and walking away. Cyrus watched him pay his bill before he left, giving Cyrus a quick glance as he left out the door.

Silently, Cyrus turned back around in his seat, giving his friends a look. “So...what’d you think? _Please_ tell me you like him now. I mean, it’s not like I _need_ your approval or anything, but it’d really be nice if—”

“Cyrus,” Jonah exclaimed. “He’s cool, don’t worry.” He shot Buffy a worried look. “I mean, he’s cool, right?”

Buffy crossed her arms before letting out a sigh. “ _Yes_ ,” she finally admitted. “He’s not _too_ bad. Maybe...me and Andi misjudged him.”

Cyrus beamed. “Andi?”

She sighed, a small smile breaking out on her face. “Maybe we overreacted _just_ a little.”

“That’s great! I’m _so_ _glad_ you like him. It was getting _really_ exhausting worrying about whether you guys would be friends with him or not.” He heaved a sigh of relief; he hadn’t realized how much he’d been stressing over his friends and TJ getting along until that moment. And _yeah,_ he always tended to be worrisome, but this seemed to be a lot more than usual, even for him.

“I didn’t realize you guys were such great friends,” Jonah said nonchalantly, taking a sip of his drink. Cyrus wasn’t sure if he was trying to imply something or just making a casual observation; it was always difficult to figure out the difference when it came to Jonah.

“No kidding,” Andi said.

Cyrus blushed at their comments and brushed them off; they seemed to hit too close to the thoughts he’d already been having about this whole situation, the ones he didn’t want to dwell on too much, or at all. Cyrus’s feelings were always getting him into trouble—they just weren’t something he wanted to deal with right now, and _especially_ not when it came to TJ.

His friends jumped back into their previous conversations soon enough, but Cyrus wasn’t really listening. He couldn’t help but feel that it wasn’t as vibrant with TJ gone. Maybe it was his biting sarcasm or his dry humor, or the way he sometimes liked to throw out random and unwarranted compliments (usually just to Cyrus), or maybe the way his blonde hair and green eyes seemed to glint under the fluorescents…

Not for the first time that afternoon, Cyrus found himself shoving the sentiments away and tucking them to the back of his mind. He tried to lose himself in the conversation instead of his thoughts the way he so often did nowadays, especially when it (weirdly enough) concerned TJ.


	9. Chapter 9

A week passed after their trip to The Spoon, during which Cyrus and TJ stayed busy working on their stories and pages. It was beginning to get down to the wire—rough drafts were due on Monday and Cyrus _still_ hadn’t received responses back from one of his sources. It was for his piece on the upcoming horror movie fundraiser being held by the Drama Club; unfortunately for Cyrus, the head of the Drama Club was Mrs. Ratliff, and she refused to check her email due   to her firm dislike for modern technology. (Cyrus’s theory was that she just didn’t understand the “new-fangled gadgets” she supposedly despised so much, but he didn’t have much evidence to support this.) Either way, that didn’t change the fact that he didn’t have enough information for his story (even the times he’d stopped in her classroom after school to get the answers to his questions, she wasn’t there, always leaving at the earliest possible second.) In a desperate last-ditch effort, Cyrus forwarded the questions to her again, hoping by _some_ miracle that she’d actually answer them this time.

It was about after the fifth time in ten minutes of refreshing his page that Cyrus gave up. “She’s never going to answer me,” he groaned out loud, beating his fists against the keyboard.

He heard a snort from beside him, and there was the sudden reminder that TJ was sitting next to him. He’d been so caught up in refreshing his email that he’d forgotten he was there. “Please pretend you didn’t just see me do that,” Cyrus said, resting his head in his arms. “I already feel pathetic enough as it is."

“What’s got _you_ so bummed out?” TJ asked teasingly. Cyrus wondered to himself if TJ was ever anything other than sarcastic, broody, or amused.

“I sent out interview questions to Mrs. Ratliff a week ago and she still hasn’t responded because ‘the Internet’s our enemy’ and all of that,” he complained. “I’ve even tried approaching her about it in person, but she’s either not in her room or tells me I shouldn’t speak unless spoken to. And rough drafts are due Monday and I barely have anything for my story and what if Mr. Spier gives me an F and I end up failing this class—”

“Cyrus, Cyrus, slow down,” TJ said. “What’s the story even about?”

Cyrus sighed; it wasn’t like it mattered at this point, he might as well just send the paper to print with a huge block of blank space, but he found himself telling him anyway. “It’s for the Halloween Horror Fest the Drama Club is hosting. And since Mrs. Ratliff is the head of the club, she’s my go-to source, but no matter _how_ much I try, she won’t give me the information I need.” He let out another sigh; he couldn’t bear to think about how disappointed Mr. Spier was going to be.

Even with his head in his arms, Cyrus could still see the lopsided smile on TJ’s face. “I was actually thinking about going to that,” TJ said. “Wanna come with me?”

Cyrus was pretty sure he squeaked at the question, both because it sounded like a date and also because it was to watch _scary movies_. “What?” he asked, just to make sure he’d heard him correctly the first time.

“Do you want to come with me to the scary movie thing?” TJ asked again. “It’d be _pretty_ lame if I went by myself. Besides, if you went with me, you’d be able to get more information for your story. I could even help you if you want. Ratliff likes me for some weird reason, who _knows_ why.”

 _I know why_ , Cyrus thought to himself, then pushed the thought to the back of his mind. TJ _did_ make a good point. He would be able to get the information he needed from Mrs. Ratliff _and_ TJ would be there to smooth over the waters. (Not to mention he’d get to hang out with TJ again, something that made him buzz with a lot more excitement than it probably should’ve.) But that still didn’t change the fact that he was absolutely, positively _terrified_ of scary movies.

“Not that it probably wasn’t obvious, but I’m afraid of scary movies,” Cyrus explained, lifting his head up. “They’re always so unpredictable! You never know when something’s just going to jump out and eat someone!”

TJ laughed. “Listen, I’m pretty sure they’re only showing really old movies and those have _totally_ fake special effects. They’re not even that scary, I promise.”

Cyrus debated his options in his head for a moment before heaving a sigh of defeat. He’d rather face his fear of scary movies than disappoint Mr. Spier. It didn’t happen very often (and certainly had _never_ happened to him, not yet, anyway), but when it did, it wasn’t pretty. If anything, it felt like the brightest star in the universe was dying (if only for a few seconds, but still.) “Fine. But just so you know, I won’t hesitate to use you as a human shield if it comes down to it.”

TJ gave him a toothy grin, one full of mischief. _That_ was new; Cyrus was quickly finding out that TJ was full of surprises. “Believe me, I know what I’m getting myself into, Underdog.”

* * *

Later that evening, Cyrus found himself standing in front of the school entrance. He kept checking his phone every few seconds; the time was getting dangerously close to the start of the first movie—fifteen minutes, to be exact, and Cyrus was starting to get nervous. What if he ended up embarrassing himself in front of TJ and he finally realized how lame he actually was? Or _worse,_ what if he just didn’t show up at all? Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe he shouldn’t have come—

But then TJ was there, walking up the sidewalk and towards Cyrus, and the tightness in his chest lessened. “You nervous?” TJ asked. His breath frosted in the air from the cold.

“Just a little,” Cyrus lied, clenching his fingers together inside his pockets.

Of course, TJ saw right past it; Cyrus _really_ needed to work on his ability to lie. “You’ll be fine, Cy. I’ll be there the whole time. Human shield, remember?” he asked, making Cyrus laugh just a little.

Cyrus nodded, trying to shake off at least _some_ of his fear. “I guess we better go while there’s still seats.” He hoped he didn’t sound as nervous as he did in his own head.

Together, they walked into the auditorium and paid their five-dollar-a-piece admission fee. TJ bought drinks and snacks at the concession stand while Cyrus set out to find seats, settling for an empty section near the top of the auditorium. He didn’t want anyone else around to judge him for having his hands over his eyes the whole time if he could avoid it.

He could see TJ scanning the auditorium (looking for _Cyrus_ of all people, a thought that made him forget the fear he was full of, if only for a second) before spotting him at the top and smiling. Cyrus looked away, pretending he hadn’t been paying attention as TJ climbed the steps.

Seconds later, TJ was sitting in the seat next to him and passing him a can of soda. “Do you want to hold the popcorn or should I?” TJ asked, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“It’s probably better if you hold it. I tend to jump even when nothing scary is happening,” Cyrus joked.

TJ rolled his eyes and laughed in response; Cyrus desperately tried to ignore the fact that they were sitting so close that he could feel the vibrations of his laughter.

“What movies are they showing?” he asked abruptly. He needed to focus on something other than how close in proximity he was to TJ, and scary movies would _more_ than do the trick.

TJ tossed a handful of buttered popcorn in his mouth. “ _Frankenstein_ and _House on Haunted Hill_ ,” he said, talking around the kernels. “ _Frankenstein_ came out in ‘31 during the Great Depression and _House on Haunted Hill_ is from the late 50’s,” he said.

“You sure do know a lot of history. Behind movies, at least,” Cyrus observed.

He shrugged. “It’s my favorite subject.”

“I didn’t know that.” Cyrus popped the lid off his vanilla Coke and took a sip.

TJ smirked. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Underdog.”

Cyrus’s eyes widened, his interest piqued. “Like what?”

If TJ had been planning to tell him in that moment, he didn’t show it. He glanced away from Cyrus, taking another bite of popcorn. “The movie’s about to start.”

And he was right; the lights were dimming as a filmy black-and-white movie was being projected onto the screen. Almost immediately, Cyrus found himself ducking down in his seat and covering his eyes as a reflex.

And almost immediately, TJ was there, wrapping his hands around Cyrus’s wrists and pulling them away from his face. “Don’t worry, Cyrus. It’s not real, remember? Besides, nothing’s even happened yet.”

Cyrus nodded, refusing the urge to squeeze his eyes shut. Instead, he focused on the warmth circling his wrists. It was more calming than it should’ve been; even when TJ pulled away to eat another handful of popcorn, he could still feel TJ’s fingertips pressing into his skin.

Even though TJ was the one holding the popcorn, Cyrus was the only one eating it. He kept nervously chomping down on it every time something happened (at least, every time he _thought_ something was going to happen.) “Here,” TJ whispered. He was holding the bag out in front of Cyrus so he could reach it easier.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, trying to keep his voice down. Cyrus had already eaten most of the popcorn and here he was, helping him consume the rest of it.

“I’d rather you eat popcorn than scream every time something happens,” TJ teased. “And I also have a feeling if I let _you_ hold the bag, it’ll end up on the floor.”

He was right; that had happened to Cyrus on more than one occasion between his tendency to get scared easily and his clumsiness. “Well, if you insist,” Cyrus smiled, feeling happy at having had a distraction from the movie. Naturally, it was fleeting—Frankenstein showed up on the screen and began terrorizing the village, making Cyrus stuff another handful of popcorn in his face.

Eventually, the popcorn ran out and only the kernels were left (which Cyrus considering eating, too, but figured it wasn’t worth getting them stuck in his teeth.) Without the popcorn to distract him, it turned out he had quite the habit of grabbing TJ’s arm every time something scared him. He hadn’t even realized he’d been doing it until he felt the warm cotton of TJ’s sweatshirt under his fingertips; whenever he _did_ catch himself, he whispered an apology and pulled away. After about the tenth time, Cyrus opened his mouth to say sorry until TJ cut him off. “If you apologize again, you’ll have spent more time saying ‘I’m sorry’ more than watching the movie,” he teased. Cyrus pulled away again, giving him a sheepish smile before moving his eyes from TJ back to the screen. The next time he grabbed TJ’s arm, he said, “Five minutes? That’s a new record,” which made Cyrus nudge him lightly in the side.

To Cyrus’s own surprise, he made it through the entire movie without dying of fear—a possibility he hadn’t once considered ever since he’d agreed to come. “So...what’d you think?” TJ asked. “Were you scared?” He said this with a hint of teasing, one that gave away that Cyrus had very obviously been frightened during the movie.

“Me? Scared?” Cyrus joked. “It actually wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I mean, it was _still_ super scary, but you were right. It _did_ look kind of fake, you know, being from the 30’s and all.”

“See, I told you,” TJ grinned. “I’m pretty sure _Frankenstein_ is as old as Mrs. Ratliff.”

Cyrus laughed, then he remembered: Mrs. Ratliff. The _real_ reason he’d come here tonight. He’d been so scared (and having so much fun with TJ) that it’d completely slipped from his mind. “Speaking of which, we should _probably_ interview her while we still have intermission,” he pointed out.

“True,” TJ said. “Do you see her anywhere?”

He scanned the auditorium; there were students standing in line for snacks and getting up to take bathroom breaks, and he spotted a few teachers gossiping in the corners. It took him a minute, but eventually, he was able to distinguish a plump old woman with graying hair lecturing a student about not turning their cell phone off for the movie. Ratliff.

“I’ve got eyes on her,” Cyrus said. “Let’s move before she disappears off to who _knows_ where.”

They got up and threw away their trash before approaching Mrs. Ratliff; she was sending the student she’d been lecturing back to their seat, yelling out that she’d confiscate “that devil contraption” if she saw it out again. “ _Maybe_ I should just take the F,” Cyrus said. He did _not_ want to be on Mrs. Ratliff’s bad side (at least, not more than he _already_ was.)

“She likes me, remember? It’ll be fine. I think.” Cyrus shot him a worried look. “I promise we’ll get your questions answered, okay?”

Cyrus sighed and nodded. “Here goes nothing,” TJ whispered, plastering a fake smile on his face. He put a hand on Cyrus’s back and pushed him forward, probably because he’d planted his feet to the floor and wouldn’t walk, but it still made a flurry of butterflies erupt in his stomach.

“Hey, Mrs. Ratliff,” TJ said, smiling sickeningly-sweet.

Cyrus swore he saw her blushing. “TJ! What a pleasant surprise,” she said in her scratchy old voice. He had to refrain himself from cringing. “What brings you by? Are you here to support the arts?”

“Of course. Besides, I _couldn’t_ resist a showing of two classic films. They’re _so_ much better than whatever they’re producing these days.” Cyrus bit his lip to keep himself from laughing; he really was laying it on thick. Part of him couldn’t believe Mrs. Ratliff was eating it up, but he had to admit, TJ was a pretty good actor.

She lifted her head in disdain. “Technology has ruined this country.”

TJ sighed in agreement. “So true. Anyway, while I have you here, do you think you could answer my friend Cyrus here’s questions? I know, _teenagers these days_ , but I’d _really_ appreciate it if you could do me this favor.”

Mrs. Ratliff gave him a watery smile. “Anything for you, dear.” _Dear?_ Cyrus had never even heard her call a student their name without “Mister” or “Miss” in front of it. She turned to Cyrus, nose wrinkled and sniffling. “What are your questions?”

Cyrus shot TJ a smile. “Thank you,” he whispered.

TJ squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t mention it. Will you be good here by yourself?”

He nodded and waved him off. Intermission was going to be over soon and TJ had _already_ helped him more than enough.

Cyrus rattled off the questions he had for Mrs. Ratliff and she answered them—stiffly, maybe—but at least he was getting the information he needed. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Ratliff!” he said.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why didn’t you write down any of my quotes? They’re very important, you know.”

He gave her a sheepish smile. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Ratliff. I have a _really_ good memory.” He didn’t bother telling her he’d recorded their conversation on his phone.

After Cyrus finished wrapping up his interview, he got a couple quotes from other students who were attending the event and took a restroom break. When he got back, TJ was already sitting down, a fresh bag of popcorn in his lap and two water bottles in the cupholders. “I figured you’d get dehydrated from all the popcorn you were eating,” he teased, holding it out for Cyrus like before.

Cyrus smiled; he’d figured TJ had gone to the bathroom while he was getting his interview questions wrapped up, not getting him more snacks. The thoughtful gesture made his heart feel like it was beating twice as fast—or maybe that was the copious amounts of caffeine and junk food he’d consumed in the past hour or so. “I promise to save you some popcorn this time.”

“Don’t go making promises you can’t keep, Cyrus,” TJ joked as the lights went dark.

The second movie began to play, somehow managing to be even more horrifying than the last. Again, Cyrus found himself nervously stuffing his face with popcorn and clinging onto TJ’s arm. During a particularly scary part of the movie (one of the more murderer-y scenes, that was), Cyrus reached out to grab TJ’s arm, practically on auto-pilot. Except he didn’t feel the soft cotton of TJ’s sweatshirt. Instead, it was warm and smooth and—it was TJ’s hand. Even though it had happened before on the Ferris Wheel, it didn’t stop the nervous array of butterflies from forming in his stomach.

Right as he went to pull away, he felt the tiniest of squeezes, so quick he wasn’t sure it actually happened at all. “Sorry,” Cyrus whispered even though TJ had told him to stop apologizing. He just shook his head and smiled, and slowly, Cyrus retracted his hand from TJ’s.

Cyrus spent the rest of the movie wondering if he’d just imagined TJ not only _not_ pulling away from his hand, but also squeezing it back.

* * *

It was an hour later when Cyrus and TJ stood outside of the school entrance. All the other students who’d attended were already walking to their cars, but neither of them had wanted to leave just yet. At least, Cyrus hadn’t, but it wasn’t like TJ had made an attempt to leave either. “So, was it as scary as you thought it would be?” TJ asked.

Cyrus thought for a moment; he’d managed to get through both movies unscathed, though to be fair, he _had_ been distracted by TJ for a good portion of both. “Surprisingly, no. I guess I have my human shield to thank for that,” he joked.

“I also have you to thank for eating all the popcorn. You’re keeping me in shape for basketball season,” TJ laughed.

The sudden reminder made Cyrus frown; it’d been a while since he’d stopped worrying so much about him leaving journalism, mostly due to TJ’s own assurances, but maybe he’d changed his mind between now and their last conversation. “When will you be back on the team?” Cyrus questioned. He knew it was selfish, but he hoped it would be later rather than sooner.

He must’ve hit a nerve, because TJ let out a sigh and sagged against the cement block wall. “I don’t know. I’m already getting suspended for a few games because I cheated, but it depends on how well my tutoring sessions are going.”

“How are they going?” Cyrus asked. His voice echoed out in the quiet of the hallway.

He seemed to think about it for a moment. “Better, I think. I mean, I’m not getting F’s anymore, at least.”

Cyrus smiled wide. “That’s great! At this rate, you’ll be back on the team in no time!” There was a tone of happiness in his voice, because he _was_ happy, but he also couldn’t help but feel a little sad about it. Because there was still a possibility that TJ would quit journalism and forget all about him.

TJ must’ve read his mind, because he said, “It doesn’t mean _this_ stops, though, you know that, right?” He gestured between him and Cyrus.

Cyrus’s heart sped up. He wished he knew what _this_ was. “Oh, yeah, I know,” he said, even though he _really, really_ hadn’t.

He gave him a skeptical look, like he didn’t believe him. “Because we’re still friends, co-editors or not.”

The words crushed the worries he’d been harboring for so long, feeling reassured that they weren’t friends circumstantially, but because they wanted to be. “Good,” Cyrus smiled. “Because I like being your friend. Co-editors or not.”

Their gaze lingered on each other for a few seconds before TJ cleared his throat and turned away. “It’s getting late,” TJ said. “But I’ll see you Monday?”

“Yeah, Monday,” Cyrus said. Nothing could knock him down off the cloud of happiness he was currently floating on, not even the fact that he wouldn’t see TJ until the weekend was over. “Goodnight, Teej.”

He gave him a soft smile. “Night, Underdog.”

They both smiled at each other, walking down the sidewalk before going their separate ways.


	10. Chapter 10

It was over a week later that TJ found himself walking into class the way he’d become so accustomed to over the past month. Cyrus was already sitting down when TJ arrived, a fact that always made TJ smile no matter what mood he was in. He didn’t let himself dwell on _why_ that happened, instead pushing it to the farthest corners of his mind and making his way to his seat.

When he sat down, Cyrus didn’t even look up, which was so unlike him that TJ couldn’t help but blink in disbelief at the sight. “Hey, Cyrus, what are you up to?” he asked. It was _obvious_ what he was up to; he had his pages pulled up on the computer, but still, finding any excuse to talk to Cyrus anymore seemed to be more of a common occurrence nowadays than not for TJ.

Cyrus didn’t glance away from the screen when he answered. “You know, just finishing up my pages,” he said. “Things tend to get pretty chaotic around here when the paper goes to print.”

Not that TJ would know, obviously, but he nodded like this was normal for them. “Guess I better get to work then,” he smiled.

After an eternity of getting his computer to boot up (Mr. Spier _really_ needed to replace them), TJ pulled up his pages. They looked pretty okay; at least to TJ they did, anyway. He was missing some pictures and stories, but those wouldn’t be so hard to fill, right? He flitted through the stories folder like Cyrus had shown him, except there was nothing there.

He frowned, double-checking to make sure he was in the right folder; a quick glance at the top of the screen showed that he was. So, what now? Was it a glitch of some sort or did it just mean that the stories hadn’t even been written yet?

TJ glanced to Cyrus for help, but he was _clearly_ busy with his own pages; his furrowed eyebrows and bitten lip were proof enough of that. Internally groaning, TJ decided to forget his missing stories for now and try to fill the gaping blank space where his pictures were supposed to go. Again, to no avail, he was met with nothing but empty white space in the folder. And again, he looked to Cyrus, who was too busy to notice he was struggling, and besides, TJ didn’t want to bother him with his own stupid problems.

 _Calm down, TJ. It’ll be fine_ , he told himself, more in anger than in reassurance. He only sort-of believed himself, and as the minutes ticked by, he could feel himself spiraling more and more into the pool of worry and frustration he _already_ spent plenty of time in.

It was near when the bell rang that Cyrus finally looked up from his computer. “And...done!” he exclaimed, clicking out of his pages with a flourish. TJ had gotten to the point where he was biting his tongue out of frustration; he couldn’t tell if he was tasting blood or if he was just imagining it. “How are your pages coming?”

TJ didn’t respond, clicking furiously with his computer mouse in an attempt to get _something_ done. He’d practically spent the entire period silently willing that the answers would come to him so he wouldn’t have to ask for help, but naturally, it hadn’t done him any good. Nothing _ever_ did, it seemed. “Teej, you okay?” Cyrus asked.

TJ shook his head in frustration, letting out an annoyed sigh. “I don’t know _what_ I’m doing.”

“Here, let me take a look,” Cyrus offered.

Again, TJ shook his head, this time more adamant. As much as he needed it, he felt so _stupid_ asking for help from Cyrus all the time. He was pretty sure they were all easy fixes, too, but for once, he just wanted to not be so _dependent_ on him. “I can do it myself,” he said, clutching the mouse tighter.

Cyrus put a hand on his shoulder. “ _TJ._ ”

He snapped out of his reverie, a combination of Cyrus’s soft voice and touch completely sapping the tension out of him. He sagged in his chair and handed over the mouse, feeling a lot more defeated than he probably should’ve about some stupid pages.

TJ watched Cyrus scroll over his pages, definitely _not_ paying attention when he scooted his chair closer to get a better look.  “It looks like you’re missing a couple stories and pictures and some of your word counts aren’t fitting,” Cyrus said, clicking his tongue in thought. “Sorry, I should’ve warned you about this.”

“Yeah, you think?” TJ asked dryly.

Cyrus’s face fell in hurt for a split second, a frown pulling down at his lips. “I’m sorry. I’ve been so caught up in finishing my own stuff that I forgot to help you.” He sighed, giving a self-deprecating laugh that cut TJ a lot deeper than it probably should’ve. “I must be an _awful_ mentor-slash-co-editor.”

TJ could feel the pull of regret in his stomach; why did he always have to lash _out_ ? Especially at people who didn’t deserve it, people who were always there for him? (On second thought, he didn’t really know anyone else who’d ever been there for him like that; maybe it was just another one of Cyrus Goodman’s seemingly endless specialties.) “You’re not,” TJ said. “You’re the _opposite_ of awful, actually. I should’ve asked you for help.” He watched the corners of Cyrus’s mouth tip up just a little bit; maybe there was an ounce of hope he hadn’t completely screwed everything up. “So...do you think you could help me with this?” he asked, gesturing to the computer screen.

“Yeah, of course,” Cyrus smiled. He was so close; their knees and shoulders were almost touching, and the way Cyrus’s eyes twinkled, TJ felt like he could reach out and touch the stars.

He looked away; he was pretty sure he shouldn’t be comparing Cyrus’s eyes to stars. That wasn’t something guy friends did for other guys they were just friends with.

Before he could think about it anymore,, Mr. Spier glanced up from his desk and gave them a look of bewilderment. “I didn’t know you boys were still here. I guess I got a little lost in my grading.” Him and Cyrus shared a chuckle, though TJ felt too indifferent about the whole thing to care otherwise. Being oblivious seemed to Spier’s thing, it seemed; what else was new? “Are you guys finishing up your pages?”

“Yeah,” Cyrus said. “I’m helping TJ with some stuff. We’ll probably be here for another hour or so, if that’s okay?”

He nodded, and TJ couldn’t help but feel a little relieved, because otherwise he’d be staring at yet _another_ bad grade from Spier, and he wasn’t really sure that was something he could handle right now. “Yeah, that’s fine! I was actually planning on going to The Spoon and coming back here to catch up on some grading. Want me to pick you guys something up?”

“Are you sure? That’d be _great_ , Mr. Spier!” Cyrus said, a look of gratitude plain on his face. TJ was appreciative of the offer, too, but he refused to show it. He figured it was out of his area of expertise, which was to be a jerk to anyone and everything, it seemed. Today had been proof enough of that.

“Yeah, thanks,” TJ said lamely.

He listened to Cyrus rattle off their orders, looking to TJ for confirmation (to which TJ nodded; he wasn’t sure he could’ve spoken an actual answer, anyway, because he was too in awe of Cyrus having remembered his order from their previous trips to The Spoon.) “All right, sounds good,” Mr. Spier smiled, eyes lit up maniacally the way they so often were. “I’ll see you boys in a little bit!”

“Thanks again, Mr. Spier!” Cyrus called out as he left the room. He turned back to TJ, a pleasant smile on his lips. “That was really nice of him.”

“Yeah,” TJ said.

Cyrus’s eyebrows scrunched up in that familiar way, and TJ felt his stomach twist. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t like him very much?”

He shrugged. “I don’t hate him or anything. It’s just...we’re complete opposites.” Besides, TJ had a hard enough time getting along with people _similar_ to him; his current relationship with his old friends on the basketball team was evident of that.

“So are we,” Cyrus pointed out.

And really, Cyrus had gotten him there. “Yeah, but that’s different,” he said, the words out of his mouth before he could stop them. _Stupid, stupid_ , he told himself. A part of him wasn’t even sure what he’d meant by that, and he was pretty sure the rest of him did. He didn’t let himself dwell on it, pushing the thoughts away from him the way he seemed to be doing more often than not nowadays.

TJ wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination or if Cyrus’s mouth had dropped open in surprise. “How?” Cyrus asked.

He scrambled for an answer that wasn’t related to the thoughts he’d already been having about the whole thing. “You’re not a math teacher,” he said, and Cyrus laughed, just a little.

Before he could press him more about it, TJ looked away from Cyrus and back at his computer, sucking in a nervous breath. “So, how do I find these missing stories?”

That seemed to do the trick, and as Cyrus began rambling off an explanation, he knew the comment had been forgotten, at least for now, anyway. TJ was able to finish placing half of his missing stories before Mr. Spier was back from The Spoon, holding a greasy bag of food for them. “Hey, boys! I got what you asked for. Two burgers, baby taters, and two milkshakes—” he paused, digging through the bag. “Oops. Make that one milkshake. I guess they forgot to give me one. Sorry,” he said, giving them a sheepish smile.

“Don’t worry, it’s okay!” Cyrus said, smiling appreciatively. TJ wondered if there was anything that could make Cyrus stop being the nicest person to ever walk the face of the Earth. “Thank you _so_ much, Mr. Spier.”

“Anytime! Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some tests to grade that are calling my name,” he said. “Oh, and by the way, don’t tell anyone we ate in here, or we’ll _all_ be in trouble.”

“Got it,” Cyrus said. He turned to TJ, taking inventory of their food and dividing it evenly between the two of them, including a stack of napkins and the sole straw for the milkshake. TJ couldn’t help but notice the way Cyrus was fidgeting in his seat; he was tapping his foot against the ground and wringing his hands. “I think I might have some extra straws in my locker? I can go check if you want—”

And _oh_. That was why he looked so nervous. TJ tucked his thumbs into his pockets, glancing away from him and focusing his gaze on the desk. He thought about them sharing a milkshake with two straws like a cheesy couple from one of those black-and-white 1950’s films, and a sensation spiked in his stomach. “I don’t mind sharing,” he said. “I mean, as long as you don’t.”

He glanced up just in time to see the relieved smile working its way on Cyrus’s face. “Hey, it beats making an extra trip to my locker. It always leaves me _surprisingly_ winded.”

TJ laughed, popping a baby tater in his mouth as Cyrus helped him place another one of his missing stories. They ate their food from The Spoon in between working on TJ’s pages, taking turns drinking the strawberry milkshake Mr. Spier had gotten for them. A couple times they went for the milkshake at the same time, and it always left TJ with a nervous pit in his stomach, a contrast to the confidence he normally exuded.

After they finished placing TJ’s stories and adjusting word counts, Cyrus helped TJ place the pictures on his page. “Like this?” TJ asked, looking to Cyrus for confirmation.

Cyrus shook his head. “ _Close_ , but no.” He said it like telling TJ that he was wrong physically pained him, and TJ had to fight the endearing smile he could feel trying to work itself onto his face.

TJ tried again. “What about now?”

“Here,” Cyrus said, putting his hand on top of the mouse and fiddling with it. This wouldn’t have been that big of a deal, except TJ’s hand was still on the mouse, now being pressed against Cyrus’s cold one from holding their milkshake. TJ sucked in a breath, trying to ignore the fact that it was happening so he didn’t overthink it. “Now do you get it?”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks,” TJ said, even though his mind had completely blanked when he was supposed to have been paying attention. Luckily for him, Cyrus didn’t mind showing him again, full of the well of patience and kindness that TJ wondered would ever run dry.

From there, it didn’t take long to finish up the rest of his pages, TJ clicking out of them as quickly as he could manage the second they were done. “Well, that wasn’t so hard,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Cyrus cracked a smile. “You’ll get the hang of it. I actually _cried_ during my first issue. I promise next time around, it’ll be better.”

 _It already_ is _better_ , TJ couldn’t help but think. “Thanks, Cyrus. For...everything. I couldn’t have done this without you.” As much as he wanted to be able to figure things out for himself without constantly needing help, he really had to owe it to Cyrus, otherwise who _knew_ what would’ve happened without him.

“Anytime,” Cyrus said. “I’m glad I could be of help.”

In that moment, Spier popped his head up from his desk. “Oh, would you look at that! It’s already half-past four.”

“It’s _four-thirty_?” Cyrus questioned. “Oh, no, I’m going to be late for my study session with my friends! Andi’s going to _kill_ me.”

Immediately, guilt twisted in TJ’s chest, such a rare emotion for him that it was almost wrenching. “Tell her it’s my fault. I mean, you wouldn’t even be here right now if it weren’t for me,” TJ said, and he didn’t realize just how bitter the words sounded until they were out in the open. It _was_ his fault, after all; it was his own stupid fault he couldn’t do anything right without having to enlist Cyrus’s help.

“It’s not your fault you needed help, TJ,” Cyrus said, the disagreement in his voice obvious enough. TJ wondered what he ever did to deserve Cyrus’s unwavering kindness. It was TJ’s fault his friends would be mad at him, and yet here Cyrus was, still defending him. “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow?” He gathered up all of his books, tucking them under one arm and haphazardly juggling their trash in the other.

TJ didn’t answer, giving him a nod as he watched Cyrus run out of the room. He began playing the past few hours through his head on a loop, replaying every little detail he could remember over and over. He’d had so much fun with Cyrus over the past few hours, something that didn’t happen too often with other people TJ had hung out with in the past, but he couldn’t help but feel like it’d been at least a little tainted by his own ability to ruin everything. Maybe Cyrus didn’t blame him, but TJ did. He just wished that for once in his life, he could do _something_ without dragging everyone else down to drown with him.


	11. Chapter 11

Halloween night led to Cyrus hanging out with the rest of the Good Hair Crew at Andi’s house as they got ready for the Halloween Dance. Well, Andi and Buffy were, anyway; Cyrus was really only there for moral support considering he wasn’t going, something that his friends seemed to have _way_ too hard of a time realizing, in Cyrus’s opinion.

“I still don’t understand why you won’t come with us, Cyrus,” Andi said, doing her makeup. Her and Walker had a creative idea for their costumes, unsurprisingly, both of them going as famous paintings. Andi was going as Van Gogh’s _Starry Night_ while Walker was going as Edvard Munch’s _Scream_ painting.

“I already told you. It’s like with the festival,” Cyrus said. “The Halloween Dance is a _huge_ thing for couples and I don’t have a date. I mean, we _could_ go under the premise that this is a group thing, but we all know that you’ll both be dancing with Jonah and Walker by the end of the night and I’ll be sitting in the corner alone like a fifth wheel,” he pouted.

“Come on, Cyrus, we _promise_ not to ditch you,” Buffy tried. “Besides, this isn’t _that_ different from how we all hang out at The Spoon.”

“But those usually are group hang-outs!” Cyrus protested. “Dances are literally designed _for_ couples. And I don’t blame you guys for that. It’d just be better if I didn’t go to save myself the embarrassment of being reminded of how lonely I am,” he said, putting his chin in his palms.

“Here’s an idea. Why don’t you hang out with TJ?” Andi asked, smirking as she applied dark blue lipstick to her mouth.

Cyrus blushed at the question. “Why would I do that?”

Buffy rolled her eyes, adjusting her _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ costume. “Come on, Cyrus. You guys have been hanging out non-stop for the past month.”

“So?” he said defensively. “We’re just really good friends!”

“Yeah, I don’t buy that for a second,” Buffy said, rolling her eyes.

“He got you to ride the Ferris Wheel. _And_ watch scary movies. We’ve been friends for over ten years and we’ve _never_ been able to get you to do those things.”

Cyrus tried to come up with a rebuttal, but it was no use. He was _stumped_ by that one. “Come on, Cyrus. Just call him and ask if he wants to hang out,” Andi pleaded.

“He probably has plans already,” Cyrus protested.

Buffy rolled her eyes again, which really wasn’t out of the ordinary for her. Not in the slightest. “Call him or I will.”

That was the _last_ thing Cyrus wanted; Buffy was the most confrontational person he knew, and he _really_ didn’t want her asking TJ any questions. He pulled up TJ’s number, trying to decide if he was actually going to do this, before reluctantly pressing the call button. Buffy and Andi giggled as the phone started to ring, and Cyrus shot them a dirty look, making sure to narrow his eyes at Buffy the most. “Shush,” he hissed at them.

A few seconds later, the ringing cut out, replaced by crackling on the other end of the line. “Hey, Underdog,” TJ greeted. “What’s up?” The way he said it was as if this was a regular occurrence for them, like they did this every day.

They most definitely did _not_. “Well, um...Andi and Buffy are going to the Halloween Dance tonight with Walker and Jonah, and I, uh...I was wondering…,” he trailed off, not sure what else to say. Buffy pinched him, making him hug his phone to his chest. “Fine!” he whispered loudly. He put the phone back to his ear. “I was wondering if you wanted to hang out tonight? You know, if you don’t have plans. I mean, it’s Halloween, of _course_ you have plans, this was stupid, I’ll just—”

“Cyrus,” TJ said, cutting him off, and it took a second for Cyrus to realize he sounded amused. “I’m not busy, don’t worry. What do you want to do?”

Cyrus took a relieved breath, then almost immediately began panicking again. He didn’t have the slightest _idea_ what he wanted to do; what was he supposed to tell him? “I hadn’t gotten that far,” he admitted.

TJ laughed, and again, Cyrus heaved a sigh of relief. “We can figure it out,” he said. “Text me the directions to your house and I’ll come over.”

“Okay, great! See you then,” he said, trying not to sound as nervous as he felt before hanging up. Immediately, he pulled up his messages and sent TJ his address, a smile working its way on his face as he did so.

“Look at you, hanging out with TJ,” Andi teased, bumping his shoulder.

“I guess I am,” Cyrus smiled.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Buffy said. “Now you won’t be moping around at home all by yourself while we’re at the dance.”

“I wasn’t—” Cyrus began, but she was right; that sounded about pretty much like what he’d had planned for the evening. He stood up from Andi’s bed, smoothing out his pants. “Okay, I have to get to my house before TJ does. I’ll see you guys later. Have fun!”

“You too!” Andi called after him as he left the room. He got in his car as quickly as he could, driving as closely to the speed limit as possible to get to his house (because Cyrus Goodman was a lot of things, but a _criminal_ was not one of them.)

By some miracle, he managed to get to his house before TJ had, leaving him with just enough time to worry if his outfit looked right or if his hair was sticking up awkwardly (no and yes.) Frantically, he got ready and made sure the house was adequately tidy; it was when he was fluffing the pillows on the sofa that he saw headlights shine in through the windows, and as efficiently as he could manage, he glanced around to make sure that everything was in order.

Before TJ could knock on the door, Cyrus was already swinging it open, greeting him with a smile. “Hey, TJ! Thanks for coming over.” Did he sound too eager? He looked down at his shirt; were stripes _really_ the right choice, or should he have gone with plaid? And why was he so nervous? They’d hung out _plenty_ of times before…

 _Just chill out, Cyrus. Everything’s fine_ , he told himself, even though he was pretty sure everything was, in fact, not fine, at least to him. _Deep breaths_. _In, out, in, out_.

“Of course,” TJ smiled, stepping through the door. His eyes seemed to take everything in, glancing over his house and, more nerve-wrackingly, Cyrus. “Nice house,” he grinned.

“Thanks,” Cyrus said, managing a smile (albeit a nervous one, but still.) “My stepmom seems to think so, too. Whenever she’s not busy being a therapist, she’s decorating,” he joked.

“Do you live with your dad and stepmom all the time?” TJ asked. He seemed to actually be curious, and Cyrus wasn’t sure _why_ he was surprised; TJ was always like that, at least with him.

“Most of the time,” Cyrus said. “I usually spend weekends with my mom and stepdad, though.”

“Huh,” TJ said, talking to himself more than Cyrus. “I’ve always just lived with my mom. My dad lives in a different state.”

“I didn’t know your parents were divorced,” Cyrus frowned.

TJ snorted humorlessly. “Sometimes I think my parents _forget_ they were ever married. My mom barely ever mentions him, and it’s not like I ever see my dad, so...”

Almost instinctively, Cyrus reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said.

TJ shook his head. “Don’t be. I kind of expect it from him now.”

Cyrus gave him a sad smile, pulling his arm away as TJ held up a grocery bag that he hadn’t noticed before. “Anyway, I brought candy. The store was out of all the good stuff so I bought a bunch of the leftover candy that wasn’t good enough for the trick-or-treaters. Horrible, right?” he laughed, pulling out a handful of Laffy Taffy, Smarties, and DOTS.

Cyrus laughed along with him. “I’m sure we’ll learn to like it. And if not, there’s a trash can right over there,” he said, gesturing to the kitchen. They smiled at each other in amusement before he asked, “So, what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. What do you normally do with your friends?” TJ asked.

Cyrus thought back to just minutes before when he’d been helping Andi and Buffy with their Halloween costumes. “Somehow, I don’t think you’d like what I do with my friends,” he laughed. He glanced around his house, trying to look for something to give him any ideas, before his eyes fell on the living room closet. “How about we play a board game?” TJ raised his eyebrows, whether in surprise or judgement, he wasn’t sure. “Winner gets to pick what we order in for dinner? I have a feeling _this_ won’t sustain us and I haven’t eaten yet,” Cyrus said, gesturing to the bag of reject Halloween candy TJ had brought.

TJ grinned competitively. “You’re on, Underdog.”

After rifling through the closet for a few minutes, they both settled on SORRY and set up shop on the living room coffee table. “I call blue,” Cyrus exclaimed, gathering up all the blue game pieces.

“That’s good,” TJ grinned, “because I pick green.”

“Just like your eyes,” Cyrus said. TJ glanced up at him, a tiny smile growing on his face. “I mean, I think so, anyway.” There was no way he wasn’t blushing right now; he at _least_ hoped TJ didn’t notice.

TJ laughed, shaking his head. “Anyway, you ready to get started?”

“Bring it on,” Cyrus smiled. “You first. I figure I’ll be nice now to make up for how I’m going to beat you later.”

“In your dreams,” TJ said, rolling his eyes.  He picked up a card from the deck before throwing it down and sighing. “It’s a four.”

“Looks like you can’t go,” Cyrus smiled. “My turn.” He drew a card, grinning and shoving it in front of TJ’s face. “Two! Guess I get to go.”

TJ gave him a stone cold expression, shaking his head and grabbing another card from the pile before taking a glance at it. “Ugh, three,” he groaned.

Happily, Cyrus got another card, this time getting a five. “I landed on a slide!” he exclaimed. “It’s a _massacre_.”

Again, TJ gave him a look of annoyance, pulling a ten from the deck. “ _S_ _eriously_?”

Cyrus did little to hide the smile from his face as he drew another card from the stack on the board. “ _Twelve_?”

“This game is _rigged_ ,” TJ huffed, crossing his arms.

“I think someone’s jealous,” Cyrus smiled, humming happily as he counted out the spaces.

TJ rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He grabbed a card. “Ha, one!” He moved one of green pieces out from the start.

Cyrus drew a card. “Well, this is unfortunate,” he said. TJ raised his eyebrows. “For you, though, not for me.” He showed TJ his card, the instructions telling him to move eight spots forward.

“So what?”

“If you count out eight spaces, that means I land on your space. And according to this handy instruction manual, that means _you_ get bumped back to start,” Cyrus explained, a smug smile on his face.

TJ sat there, eyes hardened in a glare. “You’re the worst.”

Normally, Cyrus would take offense to such a comment, especially if it was coming from _TJ_ of all people, but in the midst of a board game, anything and everything went. “I know,” he smiled.

The game continued like that for a half an hour with Cyrus’s last pawn sliding into home. “I guess you know what this means,” Cyrus grinned.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, you won,” he groaned.

“Yes! And _since_ I won, I’m picking pizza for dinner,” Cyrus said. He grabbed his phone, pulling up the local pizza delivery website. “So, what kind should we get?”

TJ shrugged, rolling his eyes. “You’re the winner. You get to choose.”

“I know, but I want to get something you’ll actually _like_ ,” Cyrus said. “What toppings?”

TJ glanced over his shoulder, looking at the toppings selection on Cyrus’s phone. “What about pineapple?”

Cyrus turned around to look at him, eyebrows scrunched together. “ _Pineapple_? _Please_ tell me you’re kidding.”

He gave him a confused look. “I’m not. What’s wrong with pineapple?”

“Nothing’s wrong with _pineapple_ , it just shouldn’t go on _pizza_. Pizza is a _sacred_ institution,” Cyrus said.

“Then just get pepperoni, Cyrus. I don’t care,” TJ laughed, collapsing on the couch.

After several minutes of deliberation (this was a _very_ important decision, after all), Cyrus decided on getting half pineapple, half pepperoni. (It wasn’t like he could let TJ _starve_ , and besides, pepperoni was a classic, anyway.) Cyrus sent in the order and sat down next to TJ, holding out the bag of reject candy TJ had brought as a peace offering. “Candy corn?”

“Sure,” TJ laughed. They both took turns unwrapping mediocre Halloween candy, stomachs hurting not too long after the fact.

“You were right, this is _awful_ ,” Cyrus said.

“No kidding,” TJ said, chewing a mouthful of circus peanuts. “But I can’t stop eating it.”

“Me neither.” He tossed another handful of candy corn in his mouth, grimacing slightly as he did so.

TJ stood up from the couch, stretching his arms. “Hey, where’s the bathroom?”

“Down the hall on the left,” Cyrus said. Just as he opened a box of Nerds, the doorbell rang, both of them glancing at each other. “It’s probably just the pizza,” he said. “Here, I’ll get it.”

TJ nodded, giving him a thumbs-up before heading down the hall. Grabbing a twenty from his wallet, Cyrus walked up to the door, swinging it open; on the other side was a girl with long, dark hair and brown eyes, so familiar to Cyrus that it was almost overwhelming. When he made the realization of _who_ it was, he was pretty sure his mouth dropped open. “ _Iris_?” he asked in surprise.

She smiled, one full of the sweetness and kindness Cyrus had remembered her being so full of back in middle school. “Cyrus, is that you?” she asked. “You look so grown-up!”

He couldn’t help but do a once-over of himself; he thought he looked the  way that he’d always looked, but that was probably because he was used to seeing himself in the mirror every day. “So are you! Come inside!”  he said, stepping side to let her in.

“I didn’t realize that you liked pineapple on pizza,” Iris observed.

He threw a glance to TJ’s empty spot on the couch. “Believe me, I don’t,” he laughed. He took the pizza box from Iris, setting it down on the table. “So, what have you been up to? How’s life?”

“I’m actually going to Harvard next fall to study paleontology! I took a year off to do an internship for the local museum, so I got this job to make some money before college,” she gushed.

“That’s so _exciting_!” Cyrus said. “Congratulations! I know how you always wanted to go to an Ivy League school. Just like me,” he laughed.

“I know!” she exclaimed. “I guess we’re still alike even after so long.”

Cyrus opened his mouth to respond when he saw TJ in his peripheral vision, his face blank. “Hey!”

“Hey,” TJ said evenly, tucking his thumbs in his pockets.

“Well, I guess I should get going,” Iris said, giving Cyrus a sad smile. “I have another delivery after this.”

“Bye, Iris. It was great seeing you!” he said. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He held out the twenty-dollar bill.

She shook her head. “Keep it. It’s the least I can do for an old friend.”

Cyrus smiled, remembering just how sweet Iris had always been. He’d always sort of missed her, even after so many years. “Thanks, Iris. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye,” she said with a smile, and with that, she stepped out onto the porch, closing the door behind her .

TJ sat down on the couch, clenching and unclenching his fingers together as he watched Cyrus silently fill two red Solo cups with soda. “Who was that?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. Instead, it came out kind of hostile.

“Oh? Iris?” he asked. He was holding two paper plates and the pizza box in one hand and juggling the cups in the other, unceremoniously plopping it all down on the table. “Just my ex-girlfriend from middle school.”

The words _middle school_ did not matter to him as much as _ex-girlfriend_ , and TJ could feel the stirring uneasiness he’d felt upon seeing them together grow. “Oh. Cool,” he said, though it wasn’t cool, was actually the complete _opposite_ of cool. “Why’d you break up?”

Cyrus raised his eyebrows, seeming to be taken off-guard by the question. (But really, he should’ve expected it. If you brought up having an ex-girlfriend, someone was _bound_ to ask why.) “Oh, you know, just middle school stuff,” he said, recovering quickly.

As surprised as Cyrus had acted when Iris had shown up, the bitter, agonizing part of TJ couldn’t help but wonder if that was why he’d been so excited about winning their board game and why he’d decided to order pizza and— _why did he care_?

Then the thought came: he knew exactly why he cared. Because he liked Cyrus Goodman and he was jealous, and _God_ , it hurt to admit. The thought blurred everything going on around him, making his head feel dizzy. _I like Cyrus_ , he thought to himself.

“Hey, you okay?” Cyrus asked, putting a hand on his arm. The lurching in his stomach grew, and he knew it wasn’t something he could just push away anymore. All his thoughts about Cyrus had become too frequent and consuming that it was nearly impossible at this point. “Yeah, sorry. Just spaced out for a moment,” he lied.

“Oh,” Cyrus said, furrowing his eyebrows for a second before looking away. “Anyway, I got our pizza,” he smiled, opening the lid. “Half pineapple, half pepperoni.”

It was such a small and stupid and _insignificant_ thing, but that didn’t stop the warmth from blooming in TJ’s chest. For a second, he was able to forget the stirring jealousy in his stomach, letting himself fall for Cyrus Goodman a little more than he already had been. “You didn’t have to get pineapple.”

“I know. I wanted to,” he said. “But if I start gagging and choke on my _own_ pizza, I’m blaming you.”

TJ laughed, more of a snort, really, before taking a couple slices of pizza and piling them onto his own plate. Cyrus seemed to watch TJ for a few moments as he stuffed a piece of pizza in his mouth, giving him a withering look. “ _How_ do you even eat that?”

“What? It’s good,” TJ said, swallowing. “You should try it.”

“My parents always tried to warn me about the dangers of peer pressure,” Cyrus said.

“Oh, come on,” TJ said, trying to hold back the smile he could feel trying to fight its way onto his lips. Cyrus was always able to do that to him, something he equally loved and hated. “I’ll even do it like parents do with their kids. Here comes the choo-choo train,” he teased, dangling a slice of pizza in front of Cyrus’s face.

“You are _terrible_ at this,” Cyrus said.

“I promise it’s not as bad as you and the entire world makes it out to be,” TJ joked. “Just try it, Underdog.”

After a few moments, Cyrus sighed, and TJ knew he was giving in. “Before I do this, I want you to know that I am _not_ giving in because you pressured me to. I am doing this of my own free will.”

“Sure you are,” TJ laughed, rolling his eyes sarcastically.

Reluctantly, Cyrus leaned in and bit the point off the pizza, eyebrows scrunched together in thought as he chewed slowly. “So?” TJ asked, raising his eyebrows at him.

Cyrus frowned, more in confusion than anything; the pull of his eyebrows was evident enough of that. “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” he said.

“You sound disappointed,” TJ laughed, taking his own bite off the slice.

“I am. I wanted to prove you wrong,” Cyrus said, crossing his arms.

Even when he was upset, TJ found him adorable, what with his sad puppy eyes and pouty face. _I really_ am _in deep_ , he thought to himself. “Well, sorry to dash all your hopes and dreams,” he joked. Cyrus smiled, a hint of grease on the corner of his mouth. “Here,” TJ said, and without thinking, he made a move to wipe the smudge of grease off his face.

“Oh...thanks,” Cyrus said, and TJ could feel the movement of his lips from where his thumb rested on his face.

TJ glanced into his eyes, his breathing shallowing as he did so. What was he _thinking_? He was only making things worse for himself at the moment, and he knew it, too, but that didn’t stop him from lingering on his face for another second before finally pulling away. “No problem,” he said. He hoped his voice didn’t sound as strangled to Cyrus as it did in his own ears.

Luckily, Cyrus broke the awkwardness by turning on the television, some random cartoon playing on the screen that TJ didn’t bother to tune into. It wasn’t like it would help, anyway; Cyrus was the perfect distraction wherever he went, no matter how much TJ tried to pretend otherwise.

It wasn’t too long after that there was a knock on the door, and both TJ and Cyrus turned around to see a man and a woman walk inside that TJ presumed to be Cyrus’s parents. “Hey!” Cyrus smiled. “How was the party?”

“It was fun,” his stepmom said. “We were able to catch up with some of our friends, which was good.” She turned her calculating eyes on TJ, and immediately, he averted his gaze, aware of how much space he was taking up in the room. “Who’s this?”

“Dad, Sharon,” Cyrus said, sparing TJ a look. “This is TJ.”

“Oh, TJ!” Cyrus’s dad exclaimed, stretching out a hand. TJ shook it guardedly; he wasn’t really the type of person to get along with adults very much. It was a miracle he’d somehow suckered Mrs. Ratliff into liking him. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

“Really?” TJ asked, giving Cyrus an inquisitive look, but he wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I’ve, uh, heard a lot about you, too.”

“By the way, you’ll _never_ guess who we ran into,” Cyrus said. “TJ and I ordered pizza for dinner because he lost a bet—long story—and anyway, Iris was the delivery girl!”

TJ’s stomach tightened, his nerves coiling up into anxious knots. “Iris?” Cyrus’s dad asked. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard about her. What’s she up to these days?”

Cyrus began rambling about her plans for college, and the weird sensation TJ felt only grew. TJ wanted to put it down to all the awful candy they’d eaten earlier, but he knew that wasn’t the reason for it. This was different; this was the flames of jealousy flaring up in him, something he seemed to be feeling more and more whenever it pertained to Cyrus. “She’s also working at the local museum! I guess I’ll have to visit her sometime,” Cyrus said, a smile in his voice.

TJ stood up; he wondered if he was imagining it or if the edge of his vision was tainted red. “TJ, you okay?” Cyrus asked.

TJ glanced up, Cyrus’s parents watching him with a mix of inquisitivity and concern. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “Just not feeling well. Probably because of all that candy we ate,” he lied. He hoped it was believable enough for Cyrus and his parents, though he really couldn’t be bothered to care too much about it in the moment. He just wanted to get out of there and _stop_ thinking about Cyrus and Iris. “I should probably get going, but it was nice meeting you,” he said to Cyrus’s parents. “And thanks for letting me hang out, Cyrus. I”ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“See you tomorrow,” Cyrus frowned, giving him a little wave. TJ didn’t even glance back at him before he left, something that left a hollow emptiness in his chest that he wasn’t used to. Weird.

“I wonder what that was about,” his stepmom said, angling her head at the closed door.

“What do you mean?” Cyrus asked. “He _just_ said he wasn’t feeling well.”

“Maybe that’s what he _said_ , but judging by his body language, he looked like he was hiding something,” she said. “You know, emotional—”

“Repression,” Cyrus finished for her. He’d heard the term a million times before, the phrase becoming a reflex for him at this point. “I’m sure he’s okay. I mean, we _did_ eat a lot of junk food.” Cyrus wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince more: his stepmom or himself.

“Hm,” she said, smiling at him. “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” And with that, his dad and stepmom made their way down the hallway, leaving him alone.

Cyrus shook his head to himself; he knew his parents always meant well, but sometimes, they tended to read into every little thing, a trait that he’d very clearly acquired from them. Still, a part of him couldn’t help but wonder— _was_ TJ somehow repressing his feelings about something? He _had_ been acting weird earlier that evening, but _why_ he’d been acting like that, he wasn’t sure.

Cyrus brushed the thoughts away. There was no point in overanalyzing the whole thing, as much as it was in his nature to do so. The truth was that TJ probably _wasn’t_ feeling well, even if that answer didn’t settle well with Cyrus. Not at all.


	12. Chapter 12

Less than a week after Halloween, Cyrus found himself walking into seventh period journalism as punctual as ever. The room was empty the way it always was when Cyrus arrived, save for Mr. Spier, who was too busy checking emails on his computer to notice him walk in. Being the first person to class wasn’t an unusual occurrence for Cyrus; most of the other students didn’t care enough to show up, on time or otherwise, and the one person who _did_ had US History on the opposite side of the school, so it always took TJ a little longer to get to class. Just the thought of getting to spend the class period with him brought a smile to Cyrus’s lips, and he sat down in his usual seat as he waited for TJ to step through Mr. Spier’s door.

Except by the time Cyrus logged into his computer and pulled up his story ideas sheet, by the time the bell rang its final warning, by the time Mr. Spier checked back into reality long enough to take attendance, TJ _still_ hadn’t shown up. This was a fact that made Cyrus frown; he’d seen TJ in the hallway just before lunch, though it’d been in passing and they hadn’t gotten the chance to talk. _He probably had to use the restroom_ , he reassured himself. _Or he had to grab something for his locker. Or maybe the apocalypse broke out and TJ’s currently being attacked by zombies. Whatever it is, he’s probably fine!_

“All right,” Mr. Spier said, standing in front of the class. “Roll call. Okay, I see Abby, Megan, Breanna, Cyrus, Tessa…” He frowned, eyes scanning the room. “Hey, Cyrus, do you know where TJ is?”

And that was when Cyrus lost all hope for the situation; it wasn’t like TJ asked permission before he did simple things like going to the bathroom or making a trip to his locker, but class had started nearly fifteen minutes ago and he _still_ hadn’t shown up. “I have no idea,” he said glumly.

“Hm…,” Mr. Spier said, humming in thought. “It says he was here earlier. I guess I’ll just have to mark him absent unless he shows up.”

Cyrus frowned; the whole thing was so _weird_. Why hadn’t he been marked absent until _this_ period? For a second, Cyrus couldn’t help but wonder if it’d been something _he’d_ done to make TJ skip class, but what that something could be, he had no clue. Things had been smooth sailing since they’d reconvened the Thursday after Halloween; there was nothing Cyrus could think of that he’d even done remotely wrong.

Sighing, he decided it was probably best to at least _try_ and get some work done, no matter how stilted the whole situation left him feeling. He began by clicking through his email, looking for the morning announcements (it _was_ his go-to source for story ideas, after all.) It didn’t take him too long to find the email, and he scoured the contents for any possible ideas they could use for the upcoming issue, making sure to type up any notable points.

Just as he was about to close out of the email, a message under the sports section caught his eye (something he was pretty sure had never happened in his entire life.) It was a reminder that boys’ basketball tryouts were after school, and almost immediately, it began clicking in Cyrus’s head as to why TJ was absent. He was probably upset that he couldn’t go to tryouts that afternoon due to his suspension from the team. Standing up, Cyrus ran through his head what he’d say to Mr. Spier. _Come on, Cyrus. You can do this_ , he told himself. The voice sounded strangely similar to TJ, probably because he tended to pump him up more than Cyrus himself did.

“Mr. Spier?” Cyrus asked, approaching his desk.

Immediately, he glanced up from the tests he’d been busy grading and smiled, looking a little distracted (though this wasn’t out of the norm for him.) “What’s up, Cyrus?”

He swallowed harshly, trying to debate whether he should tell him the truth or not. He knew TJ wasn’t the biggest fan of Mr. Spier; what if he got mad at Cyrus for explaining where he was? Or worse, what if Mr. Spier—small chance that there was—didn’t let him go talk to TJ? That was when he settled on telling him a lie, as much as he hated doing so. “Can I go interview someone? It’s for one of my stories,” he said, wringing his hands together. He hoped it didn’t sound like the lie that it was.

Mr. Spier’s eyebrows pulled together in the middle. “You already have story assignments out?”

Cyrus gulped, crossing his fingers behind his back. “You know what they say, Early bird gets the worm.” It almost came out in the form of a question.

He stared at Cyrus with a pensive look on his face before shrugging, and Cyrus felt like he was able to breathe again. “Good work, Cyrus. I admire your dedication.”

“Thanks,” Cyrus said, voice on the brink of squeaking the way it always did when he was nervous. “I’ll be back as soon as I’m done.”

“Take all the time you need,” Mr. Spier said, waving him off without a second glance. Trying not to run, Cyrus left the classroom, roaming the halls until he found what he was looking for: the doors leading to the outdoor basketball courts. He figured there were students currently using the gym for seventh period and knew TJ wouldn’t want to be around a bunch of people right now, anyway.

As Cyrus stepped outside, he proved to be right. Throwing a basketball towards a hoop at the edge of the court was TJ, back turned and standing alone in the middle of it all. Just seeing him made a swoop of relief bloom in Cyrus’s chest; he was glad to know he was okay. “Good throw!” he called out as TJ aimed at the hoop again. It bounced off the backboard, falling to the ground.

TJ spun around, face betraying no emotion, and it nearly made Cyrus stop dead in his tracks. What if he didn’t even want to talk to _Cyrus_ ; what if this whole thing had just been a mistake? Then he shook his head to himself—helping, or at least _trying_ , to help TJ could never be a mistake. “I mean, at least I think so,” he said. “Even after watching Buffy all these years, I’m _still_ not very well-versed in the world of basketball.”

TJ shook his head and scoffed, clearly not in the mood for it. “I missed, Cyrus.” His voice was flat and cold, something Cyrus hadn’t been used to hearing from him since the first day they’d met. The words were a vice around Cyrus’s chest, cold and suffocating and squeezing the life right out of him.

Cyrus shoved his hands in his pockets, daring himself to step closer to TJ. “Are you out here instead of in class because basketball tryouts are today?” he asked.

“How’d you know about that?” TJ asked, pausing. It almost sounded accusatory.

“I saw it on the announcements looking for story ideas. You know, the ones we’re _supposed_ to work on together,” Cyrus reminded him.

TJ rolled his eyes, but not in the playful way Cyrus was used to. This time, it was dripping in sarcasm, and Cyrus wasn’t sure if it was the chilly weather or TJ’s expression that was making him cold. “Right. That’s the only reason you came out here, too, isn’t it? Because I was skipping out on helping you.” He turned his back to him again, snatching the basketball from its place on the ground and aiming it at the net. Again, he missed, sighing a groan of frustration.

Cyrus frowned; him and TJ had never gotten in a fight before, but now that they were in one, it felt like his heart was breaking off piece by piece. “That’s not true, TJ, and you know it. I wouldn’t have come looking for you if I didn’t care.” He reached out to put his hand on TJ’s arm, but he flinched away, shoving him off.

“Whatever,” he huffed. “It doesn’t matter. In a month, I’ll be back on the team and out of your way for good.”

The words were a sucker punch to the stomach, not that that had ever happened to Cyrus, but it wasn’t hard to imagine at times like these. “You’re not staying?”

He scoffed, the sole action making Cyrus feel stupid for hoping otherwise. “Come on, Cyrus. I’m not good for anything but basketball. Mr. Spier knows it, I know it. Maybe it’s time you caught on, too.” He began dribbling the ball on the ground, refusing to look up at him.

“TJ, basketball isn’t the only thing you’re good at. You can do lots of things,” Cyrus tried again. It sounded like a desperate plea in his own ears, maybe because it was.

TJ just shook his head. “Like what?” he asked harshly. “I mean, I can’t even do simple page designs or whatever without needing your help.”

“That’s different, Teej, and you know it. You’re new, you just need more practice is all.”

TJ stopped dribbling the ball, jumping up and aiming it at the hoop, and again he missed, sighing a string of curse words under his breath. “Basketball is the only thing I have,” he argued. “And I’m not even good at _that_ right now.”

Cyrus wondered if he’d ever felt as hopeless as he did in that moment. He tried to put a hand on him again. “TJ, just let me help you—”

He pulled away, clutching the basketball in his hands. “I don’t want your help.”

Cyrus’s throat felt tight, constricting in on him like a snake on its prey. “What happened to being friends, co-editors or not?” Cyrus asked. He sucked in a breath as he waited for TJ’s response, his breath freezing in front of him from the cold air.

TJ ignored him, continuing to toss the basketball in the hoop, missing again and again and again.

He took a shaky breath, blinking back the tears blurring his vision as he turned to leave. Cyrus had always been confused as to why TJ wanted to be friends with him. Maybe it was because they weren’t supposed to be.

* * *

TJ watched Cyrus walk away, slamming his basketball against the fence when he was out of earshot. Why did he always have to lash _out_ ? It wasn’t Cyrus’s fault that he felt inadequate all the time, that he like he couldn’t do anything right no matter _how_ hard he tried.

When the bell rang a couple minutes later, he didn’t even flinch. It was like he didn’t even hear it, like he couldn’t hear anything but Cyrus’s words ringing in his head. _What happened to being friends, co-editors or not_?

“I’m such an _idiot_ ,” TJ mumbled under his breath. _How_ was he going to fix the mess he’d just caused with the most important person in his life?

And just like with Cyrus, TJ didn’t have an answer.

* * *

When TJ walked into journalism the next day, Cyrus was already there, a usual occurrence for them. Except today, Cyrus’s head was bent low at his desk instead of already looking at TJ when he came through the door. He knew he didn’t have anyone to blame but himself, but the whole thing left his heart feeling more like a bag of bricks than it usually did.

He sat down at his seat, Cyrus’s head _somehow_ bending even lower, almost like he was trying to avoid TJ at all costs. Correction— _exactly_ like he was trying to avoid TJ at all costs. Again, TJ didn’t fault him for that, but that didn’t mean it didn’t _hurt_.

It took him a second to try to figure out what to say; he’d never really apologized to anyone, well, ever. He supposed it was one of his many character flaws, along with lashing out at people innocently trying to help him. “Hey,” TJ said softly, then internally scolded himself. Was that all he had? _Hey_?

Cyrus glanced up, and his expression immediately wrecked what little resolve TJ had left. His eyes were sadder than TJ had ever seen them, lips formed in a pout and eyebrows pulled up in the middle. “Hey.”

“Listen, I’m…,” he took a breath. “I’m sorry about everything I said yesterday. I don’t...I don’t know _what_ got into me. I was a jerk.”

Cyrus didn’t say or do anything for a moment, and the fear that maybe this couldn’t be fixed struck him like lightning. Finally, he shook his head, eyes fixated on the desk, saying, “It’s fine, TJ. I get you’re upset about not being on the basketball team.”

Even his _voice_ was sad. He hated himself for doing this, especially to _Cyrus_ of all people. Cyrus, who had been nice to him since day one, even when TJ hadn’t been. Cyrus, who was always there for him no matter what. Cyrus, who made his heart flutter every time his eyes even _threatened_ to look his way. “But you had _nothing_ to do with that. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, even if I was upset about the team. I didn’t mean what I said.”

“About what?” Cyrus asked. “About you leaving this class or about me not caring about you? _Or_ about us not being friends?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing for sure about journalism,” he admitted. It wasn’t that he hated journalism; he was actually kind of enjoying it (plus hanging out with Cyrus all period was an obvious bonus.) But it always left him feeling stupid and inadequate and he wasn’t sure if that feeling would ever completely go away for him. “But the rest of it...I didn’t mean a word. You were just trying to help and I pushed you away and...I’m sorry.”

Cyrus smiled, the first one he’d cracked since TJ had walked in, and he couldn’t help the swooping relief that started in his chest. “Apology accepted,” he said.

TJ raised his eyebrows. “Really? Just like that?” he asked.

“Just like that. I have a hard time staying mad at people, anyway,” Cyrus admitted.

“I don’t deserve you,” TJ said, the words out of his mouth before he could even comprehend them. This time, Cyrus raised _his_ eyebrows, shock pulling at his expression. “I mean, I don’t deserve to be your friend,” he corrected. (He’d meant what he’d said the first time, but he figured he’d save himself the embarrassment of explaining just _what_ he’d meant by it.) “I’m not sure _anyone_ does.”

“Get to know me better and you won’t think that in a few months, trust me,” Cyrus joked. “If you couldn’t already tell, I’m _kind_ of a basket case.”

TJ shook his head firmly. How did he always manage to see himself in the most negative light when it should be the opposite? “No, you’re not,” he said, cracking a smile. “Not to me.”

And like with everything, Cyrus smiled back. “I think you might be the first to think that.”

There it was again. If TJ could change just one thing about Cyrus, it would be how much he lacked confidence in himself. “Listen, Underdog. We’ve all got stuff. Just because you might be afraid of...well, a lot, it doesn’t mean you’re a basket case, okay? We’re getting over your fears, one by one.”

Cyrus smiled at him again, and TJ wondered if all the world’s problems could be fixed by that smile. “What about you, then?” he asked.

He frowned. “What about me?”

“You said everyone’s got stuff. What are you afraid of?”

_Afraid of never being good enough_ , TJ thought. _Afraid of always doing the wrong thing._ He thought about the way he’d lashed out at Cyrus, how he’d worried that he’d never be able to fix what he’d broken between them. _Afraid of losing the best thing that ever happened to me_.

Instead, he said, “Afraid of getting kicked off the basketball team.” He laughed to alleviate some of the seriousness of the conversation, but judging by Cyrus’s determined expression, it hadn’t worked.

“You’re afraid of more than that, Teej,” he said. He was giving him a look, one that TJ had seen enough times to know it was his inquisitive therapist look. “Come on, you can tell me anything.” _Yeah_ , TJ thought. _I could_. “I’m told you everything I’m afraid of, remember?” This was true; he’d sent him the list. “Now it’s your turn to tell me.”

“I think you’ve seen me lash out enough times to know,” TJ said bitterly.

Cyrus frowned. “Are you talking about yesterday? TJ, you’ve _got_ to stop beating yourself up over that.”

He didn’t say what he was thinking, which was, _You’ve forgiven me_ way _too easily_. Instead, he said, “It’s just...no matter what I do, I’m not good enough. I mean, I can’t do math, I can’t do anything right in here without asking you for help all the time. And the one thing I _am_ good at, I’m not even allowed to play.”

Cyrus paused for a moment, like he was thinking. “TJ, you _can_ do math. Having a learning disability just means you’re wired differently.” TJ could feel the warmth of the words tinging the edges of his heart. He knew it was because of Cyrus, because of the magic and kindness he seemed to be made of. “And in here...you can’t expect to be perfect at everything right off the bat. I did terrible in here my first few issues,” Cyrus said. “Asking for help doesn’t mean you’re necessarily bad at it. If you didn’t ask for help, then you’d never improve. And as for basketball, I _know_ you’ll be back on the team in no time. They can’t win too many games without their captain, can they?” Cyrus teased, nudging him with his elbow.

A small smile caught at TJ’s lips, doing a poor job of expressing how much better the words made him feel. He knew it wasn’t _just_ the meaning of the words that were making him smile, but the fact that they were coming from Cyrus. “Thanks, Underdog,” TJ said, more of a sigh from his lips than anything. “Somehow, you always know what to say to make me feel better.” He knew he probably should’ve felt more embarrassed at the statement than he actually did, but it was true, and Cyrus deserved to know. It was the least he could say considering everything Cyrus had done for him already.

“I think it’s the therapist gene,” Cyrus laughed.

TJ snorted, a real smile stretching across his face for the first time in what felt like forever. “So...you want to work on story ideas?”

“Yeah,” Cyrus smiled. “Good idea.”

Together, they worked on story ideas, things a lot more normal between them and the weight on TJ’s chest feeling much lighter than it had to begin with.


	13. Chapter 13

Cyrus was happily typing away at his computer, trying to finish up a story he was writing about the history of Thanksgiving. Normally, he wouldn’t have been so rushed to get his work done, but it was the last day before school went on its scheduled Thanksgiving break, and Cyrus _really_ didn’t want to have homework over their extended weekend.

He was about halfway finished when someone behind him asked, “What are you working on?” The voice made Cyrus nearly jump out of his skin, his adrenaline so easily activated by the interruption that it was almost pathetic.

He turned around to see TJ’s familiar grin, the sight managing to calm him down from his near heart attack, but only a little. “Just writing this story,” he explained. “I’m trying to finish up my work before we go on break in…,” he glanced down, checking his watch, “forty-five minutes.”

TJ collapsed in his usual seat next to Cyrus. “I wish it were longer,” he said, a groan escaping his lips.

Cyrus frowned in confusion, furrowing his eyebrows. Why would someone be _upset_ about having school off? The very notion made absolutely no sense to him. “You _don’t_ want to go on break?” he asked. “I thought you’d be looking forward to it.”

TJ sighed. “It’s not really the _break_...it’s Thanksgiving.” This only made Cyrus even _more_ confused. How could you hate _Thanksgiving_? It was a day practically _dedicated_ to stuffing yourself senseless with obscene amounts of food.

“What’s wrong with Thanksgiving?” Cyrus asked. He had to have _some_ reason for hating the holiday.

“You know how my parents are divorced?” he asked. Cyrus nodded slowly; now he was beginning to understand what this was about. “Well, my mom has to work on Thanksgiving, so I’m just going to be home by myself eating frozen pizza or something lame like that.”

Cyrus frowned. “TJ, that’s so sad.”

He shrugged, obviously upset about the whole thing, which made it that much sadder. “It’s whatever, I guess. Not the first time it’s happened.”

The thought of TJ sitting alone at his house on Thanksgiving filled Cyrus with never-ending heartbreak. “That is _unacceptable._  You know what? You should come over to my house for Thanksgiving.”

“Really?” TJ asked, eyebrows suspended in disbelief.

“Of course!” Cyrus said. There was no way he could let TJ sit home alone all by himself, and on a _holiday_ , no less. “My parents would _love_ it if you came. It’d be great! You know, as long as you don’t mind all my aunts being _super_ overbearing. They’re big cheek-pinchers.”

TJ laughed, his head dipping down along with it. Cyrus loved that laugh, the way his whole body seemed to move right along with him. “I’d be honored, Underdog.”

Cyrus smiled, the thought of getting to spend Thanksgiving with TJ burning a hole in his chest. (Which was something he tried _really hard_ not to dwell on, putting it down to being excited to hang out with his friend and leaving it at that.) “And maybe you could spend the night and go Black Friday shopping with us? I already had plans to go with my friends, so you could come! You know, only if you want to, though.” The suggestion left him wringing his hands in his lap.

“Relax, Cyrus, of course I want to go with you. It’d be a lot more fun if we got our shopping done together, anyway.”

“Oh, yeah,” Cyrus said, a nervous smile on his face. “Right. So...I’ll see you Thursday?”

TJ looked at him, giving him a toothy smile. “Just tell me what to wear.”

* * *

The entirety of Thursday afternoon left Cyrus feeling several different levels of anxious. It wasn’t _his_ fault there was so much to worry about—like if his outfit looked okay, or if there was enough food that TJ would be able to eat (Jewish Thanksgivings tended to have different dishes than typical Thanksgiving dinners), or if his relatives would behave (the answer to all three being he hoped so.) Cyrus spent the hours leading up to dinner running around the house in a half-winded manner to make sure everything was ready to go for when TJ arrived.

It was around four in the afternoon when the doorbell rang, and eagerly, Cyrus swung it open to see TJ on the other side. He was wearing an olive green sweater that matched his eyes spectacularly (not that Cyrus would ever tell him, of course; the thought was too embarrassing to say out loud, and he’d already done enough by comparing TJ’s eyes to his green game pieces during SORRY.) There was a backpack thrown over his shoulder (presumably for their sleepover, a thought that made Cyrus fidget with excitement and panic all at once) and (if Cyrus wasn’t mistaken) a nervous smile on his face. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey. You came,” Cyrus said without thinking. Because even though he’d been preparing for TJ’s arrival all day, a part of him had been worried that he’d never show up.

“Obviously,” he smiled, switching his backpack to the other shoulder, and Cyrus wasn’t sure how he’d ever doubted him before. “Thanks for inviting me, by the way.”

“Of course,” Cyrus beamed. “It wasn’t like I could just let you stay home by yourself for Thanksgiving.”

Before TJ could respond, his dad and stepmom were walking up to them, and immediately, Cyrus could feel himself tense up. _Please don’t embarrass me, please don’t embarrass me_ , he thought to himself like a mantra in his head.

“We’re so glad you could join us, TJ,” Sharon said, smiling.

“Cyrus was so worried about you coming over, I thought I’d have to take him into my office for a quick therapy session,” his dad joked.

 _I should’ve hoped harder_ , Cyrus groaned internally. He knew his parents meant well, but sometimes, they managed to embarrass him without even trying. He glanced over at TJ, who was grinning at him. “Thanks, Dad,” he mumbled. “Anyway, I’m sure TJ is _super_ hungry, so we’re going to go to the buffet table.” Gathering up what little courage he had, he grabbed TJ’s arm and pulled him to the food arrangements.

Once they reached the buffet, Cyrus let go of TJ’s arm, a blush surely burning his cheeks. “Sorry about that,” he said. “I wasn’t kidding when I told you they could be pretty overbearing sometimes.”

“No, it’s cool,” TJ said, a grin on his face. “Were you really _that_ worried, though?”

Somehow, some way, the heat on Cyrus’s face managed to flush redder. “Only because my relatives can be _really_ embarrassing and...I just wanted you to have a good Thanksgiving,” he admitted.

Cyrus couldn’t tell if it was his eyes playing tricks on him, or if TJ was blushing, too. The thought that maybe he was somehow reassured him and made the nerves in his stomach further coil up into knots. “I already am,” TJ said. “Again, thanks for not letting me sit home alone all night. That would’ve been _pretty_ lame.”

“Would you quit thanking me?” Cyrus teased, one, because there was no need to thank him, and two, it was doing weird things to his heart that he didn’t quite understand and wasn’t sure he wanted to. “Leaving you alone on Thanksgiving would basically go against everything I stand for. Besides, that’s what friends are for, right?”

The comment was innocent enough, but it still left him reeling.  Somehow, the word just felt _off_ , like no matter in what combination he said it, the word _friend_ just didn’t fit right.

He didn’t let himself dwell on it. “Right,” TJ said, smile seeming to fade just a little bit. He turned to the buffet, gesturing to the display of dishes arranged across the table. “So...what exactly is all of this?”

That little zip of worry ran through him again; he just hoped that TJ wasn’t a picky eater, and luckily, something told him he wasn’t. “I’m guessing you’ve never been to a Jewish Thanksgiving before,” Cyrus said.

“What’s the difference?” TJ asked.

Cyrus shrugged. “Not much besides the food. A lot of it is either kosher or staple Jewish dishes. Right here is the matzo ball soup, which you can find at pretty much any Jewish holiday. And over here are my Aunt Ruthie’s famous blueberry blintzes. She makes them every Thanksgiving,” he explained. A screechy old voice from outside the door and a quick glance out of the corner of his eye told Cyrus she was nearby. “And here she is now!” he said, gesturing to the door.

And just like clockwork, Aunt Ruthie approached them, looking as terrifying as ever with the painted-on arch of her eyebrows and the permanent scowl her face seemed to be set in. “Oh, Cyrus, it’s been so _long_ since I’ve seen you!”

“But I just saw you a couple weeks ago,” Cyrus joked, because it was true. She had a habit of showing up to their house at the randomest times to gossip with his parents.

She glared at him (or maybe it was just her normal face, Cyrus had trouble telling the difference sometimes.) “Your point?” she asked. He shrugged, conceding. It was nearly impossible to win an argument with Aunt Ruthie, so most of the time, no one even bothered. “Cyrus, why haven’t you introduced me to your friend? We’ve raised you better than that,” she tutted.

Cyrus turned around to smile apologetically at TJ, giving him a look that he hoped said, _This is just how she is_. “Aunt Ruthie, this is TJ Kippen. TJ, this is my famous Aunt Ruthie.”

TJ reached out to shake her hand, and she raised her eyebrows at him skeptically like she was trying to decide what to make of him. “Cyrus has told me _so_ much about you,” TJ said, which was sort of a lie, but hey, anything was worth getting on Aunt Ruthie’s good side. Andi and Buffy had learned _that_ the difficult way.

Finally, she smiled as much as someone as scary as her could, pushing his hand aside. “Oh, none of that,” Aunt Ruthie said, pinching his cheek. _Sorry_ , Cyrus mouthed at TJ. He shook his head, mouthing back, _It’s fine_. “Cyrus, when are you going to start bringing your girlfriend around here so we can meet her?” she asked abruptly.

“Aunt Ruthie, I don’t have a girlfriend,” Cyrus said, face scrunched up.

“Well, it’s about time you got one,” she barked. Cyrus ignored the twinge he felt at the comment; he’d rather not start _more_ drama than there’d already be at dinner if Aunt Ruthie knew he was gay (not that everyone else would mind; the Goodman family _loved_ drama.) Besides, he wasn’t sure he was ready to tell TJ yet, anyway; he wasn’t sure _how_ he’d take the news, and it’d be a _little_ awkward if he was uncomfortable by it considering he was spending the night and all. (Plus the thought of TJ rejecting him for who he was left the threat of hot, blinding panic consuming him whole.)

He shook his head as if to rid himself of the thoughts; the risk of losing TJ was _not_ something he enjoyed thinking about. Couldn’t he just have this one day to be grateful for the things in his life without overthinking it all? “What about you, TJ? Surely a handsome boy like you has a girlfriend,” she said.

And just like that, the twinge was back, even though Cyrus knew it shouldn’t be considering the comment had been directed at TJ and not him. “No, actually. It’s not something I’m...really worried about right now,” he said.

The response didn’t really come as a shock to Cyrus, especially considering everything TJ had going on right now. But still, that didn’t stop the little bud of hope from blossoming in his chest for a reason he didn’t quite understand.

“Hmph,” Aunt Ruthie said. “You boys better get a helping of my blueberry blintz before it’s gone. It’s everyone’s favorite, you know.”

“Yes, Aunt Ruthie,” Cyrus said, forcing a smile as he watched her walk away. He hated to admit it, but once she left the room, he felt like he could breathe again without the heavy tension and static looming overhead. “Just ignore her,” Cyrus advised, turning to TJ. “She’s always been like that. I don’t know _where_ she gets it from.”

TJ laughed. “No, it’s cool, Underdog. I’m glad I’m meeting your family.”

The implications of TJ’s words turned Cyrus redder than his Aunt Sheila’s cranberry sauce. “Me too,” he said, mumbling the words more than actually saying them.

Cyrus helped TJ pick out what to eat before both of them loaded their plates and moved to an empty table in another room. “So, you don’t have any cousins your age?” TJ asked, stabbing at a forkful of his Aunt Ruthie’s blintz.

“No. They're all either way older or younger than me, so I’m kind of stuck in the middle,” Cyrus explained. “What about you? What’s your family like?”

TJ shrugged. “Not very big. Neither of my parents have any siblings, so we don’t really have a lot of get-togethers or anything.”

The answer surprised Cyrus; he couldn’t imagine not seeing his entire family pretty much all the time. “It’s kind of the opposite for me, actually,” he said. “My family is super close, even my stepparents. Sometimes, they all go on double dates together.” It was true; they even had one scheduled on Valentine’s Day.

“Really? My parents can’t even be in the same room,” TJ said, almost snorting. “My mom tries to avoid talking about him at all if she can help it.”

Cyrus couldn’t believe how sad TJ’s home life sounded in comparison to his. He was lucky enough to have four loving parents, meanwhile TJ didn’t even have two. “How often do you see your dad?” he asked.

He shrugged again. “A couple of times a year. Sometimes on holidays, sometimes when he’s just passing through town.”

“You don’t talk on the phone at all?” he asked, eyebrows scrunched.

“Nah. He’s too busy for that,” TJ said. The tone of bitterness in his voice didn’t go unnoticed by Cyrus. “But it’s whatever, I guess. I don’t need him.”

“Good,” Cyrus said firmly. “Because it sounds to me that he doesn’t deserve you, anyway.” Not that _anyone_ deserved someone as wonderful as TJ, but his dad didn’t even come close, according to Cyrus’s standards, anyway.

TJ smiled. “Thanks, Cyrus.” Cyrus didn’t say anything, just smiling back at him.

TJ pointed to something behind Cyrus’s head, and he turned around to realize it was a deck of cards sitting on a shelf in the corner. “You want to play?”

“Are you sure _you_ want to? Not to brag, but between the two of us, I tend to hold the winning streak,” Cyrus joked, referencing to their game of SORRY from Halloween.

TJ rolled his eyes, but not in a mean way. “Not for long you don’t,” he teased. “Pass me those cards.”

Cyrus did as he told him, unknowingly starting a long and intense series of card games that he really hadn’t been expecting. “Want to play again?” TJ asked after a couple of rounds, a smug smile on his face. Of _course_ he’d look like that; he was winning, after all.

“What about a different game? Like Go Fish?” Cyrus suggested.

“Come on, Cyrus, it’s not _that_ bad,” TJ said. “Here, let me give you some pointers.”

And he did, telling Cyrus all about gaming strategies and a bunch of other stuff he didn’t completely understand, but he _did_ end up winning a few games after that. Maybe not as much as TJ had, obviously, but considerably more than he would have had it not been for TJ.

“Who has the winning streak now?” TJ joked, stacking the cards back into their original deck. They’d been playing for over an hour, and both of them had exhausted the source of entertainment far beyond its limits by that point.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Cyrus said. “This competition is to be continued. We still need a tie-breaker.”

“If you say so,” TJ snorted.

After a few hours, Cyrus’s relatives went home, leaving the house in a state of despair for Cyrus and his parents to clean up. “Cyrus, you’ve got dish duty,” his dad said.

“On it,” he replied, grabbing a dish rag and turning on the hot water in the sink.

TJ followed, standing next to him as he began to pour soap over a bunch of dirty plates. “I can help,” he offered.

“That’s not necessary, TJ,” Cyrus’s stepmom said. “You’re our guest.”

“No, it’s okay,” he said. “I do it all the time at home. It’ll take, like, five seconds.”

Cyrus’s dad smiled at him. “If you insist,” he said. “We’ll be cleaning up in the dining room if you boys need anything.”

“Thanks, Dad!” Cyrus called after him. He turned to TJ, smiling up at him. “I’ll wash, you dry?”

“Deal,” TJ said, grinning as Cyrus handed him a dry dish cloth.

They worked in harmony for all of five minutes when Cyrus accidentally splashed him with water while trying to scrub a particularly stubborn plate. He looked up at TJ with widened eyes, the front of the other boy’s shirt soaked and his face blank. “Sorry, TJ, it was an accident—”

He wasn’t able to get the rest out before TJ was grabbing the nozzle, spraying Cyrus’s shirt with it. “Oops, my bad,” he said. His eyes were glittering with amusement and mischief, the smallest of smiles curving at his lips.

Cyrus looked down at his shirt in shock, gaping at the mess. “Really?” he asked. “Is this how it’s going to be?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” TJ quipped, drying a plate with his dish cloth.

“Fine,” Cyrus said, eyeing the bottle of soap on the counter. He grabbed it, making a move to look like he was about to pour it on the dirty dishes sitting in the sink, before squeezing a glob of it into his hand and shoving it in TJ’s hair. “Sorry, my hand slipped,” he teased, not able to contain his smile.

“Seriously?” TJ deadpanned. Then he winced, hands flying up to cover his face. “You got it in my eyes.”

“I’m sorry!” Cyrus said. “Here, let me get you a—”

Before he could even blink, TJ was grabbing the nozzle again, aiming it at Cyrus until he was drenched. “You’re so gullible,” he smirked.

“Now you’re calling me _names_ ? Oh, it’s _on_ ,” Cyrus said, snatching the soap from where he’d set it down and dousing it over the other boy while TJ continued to spray him with water from the sink. They both took turns attacking each other, until at some point, Cyrus slipped on a puddle on the floor and crashed to the ground.

Immediately, TJ stopped laughing, turning off the running sink water and crouching down next to him. “Cyrus, are you okay?” The smirk was gone from his face, now replaced by worry lines and a frown.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Cyrus winced. There was a mild throbbing in his back from where he’d fallen, but otherwise, he was okay. “I guess there _is_ such a thing as having too much fun.”

TJ laughed. “Come on, I’ll help you up.” Without asking, he grabbed Cyrus’s hands, pulling him shakily to the ground. Cyrus couldn’t help but wonder if the wobbling was due to him falling or the result of something _else_. “You okay?” he asked again. He was still holding Cyrus’s hands.

He nodded, vocalizing an actual answer feeling like too much of a task for a multitude of reasons. Luckily, he was saved from responding, anyway, when his parents ran into the room. “What _happened_ in here?” his stepmom exclaimed.

TJ dropped his hands, the lull in Cyrus’s stomach all but disappearing. “I think we got a little out of hand with the dishes,” Cyrus said.

“You think?” she asked, though there was a small smile on her face; she always had a hard time staying mad at him.

“Are you boys okay?” his dad asked. “We heard a crash.”

Cyrus raised his hand weakly. “It was me. I was the crash,” he said. “But I’m fine. I promise to let you know if I’m feeling concussed anytime soon,” he joked.

His stepmom sighed, shaking her head at them. “Good,” she said. “Anyway, just...go clean yourselves up. We’ll take care of this.”

“Sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Goodman,” TJ said apologetically. “I guess we got a little carried away.”

Sharon smiled at them. “It’s okay, TJ. I’m glad to know that you and Cyrus are having fun.” She waved them away. “But seriously, both of you go get changed before someone _else_ slips on the floor.” She gave Cyrus a knowing look.

“Okay,” he said dejectedly. He turned to TJ, his nervousness from earlier starting to set back in. “Come on, I’ll show you my room.”

Cyrus led him down the hallway, opening the door and flipping on the light switch to his bedroom. His full-sized bed was pushed against one wall, his desk on another, and a comfy chair in the corner, along with a flat-screen TV hanging on the wall opposite to his bed. “Nice room,” TJ said, eyes wide as he looked around.

“Thanks,” Cyrus smiled. “After we get cleaned up, we can watch a movie, if you want. I have a whole collection in my closet if you want to pick one out.”

“I don’t care what we watch,” TJ shrugged. “You can pick.”

“ _Big_ mistake letting me choose,” Cyrus joked. “I’m kind of a huge sucker for _Grease_.”

TJ rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”

“What can I say, it’s a good movie!” Cyrus defended. “By the way, bathroom’s on the—”

“Left,” he finished for him. “I remember.”

Cyrus blushed. “Oh. Right.”

TJ flashed him a quick smile before leaving for the bathroom, closing the door behind with a thud. Quickly, Cyrus flitted through his closet before changing out of his wet clothes and into his pajamas. While he waited for TJ, he queued up _Grease_ and pulled out his computer. Maybe he’d be able to punch out the last few paragraphs of that news story while he was waiting…

Cyrus was so immersed in writing his story that he didn’t even notice TJ until he plopped down next to him on the bed. “What are you working on?” he asked, leaning over Cyrus’s shoulder to look at the screen.

For a second, Cyrus forgot to breathe (could someone _forget_ to _breathe_?) He’d never had a guy sleepover before (besides with Jonah and Walker, and those had always been accompanied by Andi and Buffy, so it wasn’t like they _really_ counted), and he wasn’t entirely sure how they worked.

Cyrus glanced between TJ and the screen, desperately trying to ignore the fact that he could feel TJ’s shoulder touching his. “Just finishing that story I was working on the other day,” he explained. “I wanted to get it done before break, but I didn’t have enough time between all of the other assignments I had to get done.” (Plus he’d been majorly distracted talking to TJ, but he wasn’t about to tell him that.) “Have you noticed that our teachers always load us up with twice as much work before break?”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” TJ laughed, standing up, and Cyrus released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding in. “Do you mind if I turn the light off?” he asked.

Cyrus shook his head. “No, go ahead. I’m almost done with this, anyway.”

TJ flipped off the lights while Cyrus pressed play on the movie, TJ flopping down next to him on the bed. For a while, it was silent, save for the catchy tunes of _Grease_ playing in the background and Cyrus typing on his computer. It was nearly a half an hour into the movie when the silence was finally broken. “I thought you were almost done with that,” TJ said, voice cutting through the darkness.

Cyrus jumped at the interruption before huffing a laugh. “I’m just editing now. I have to make this _perfect_ for Mr. Spier.”

“Everything you do is perfect,” TJ said.

His stomach turned nervously at the words; he wondered if he meant just in journalism or in general. “Not true,” Cyrus said. “I _happen_ to be very accident-prone. Besides, I need to stay on top of things if I want to be editor-in-chief next year.”

TJ sat up, leaning over Cyrus’s shoulder and scanning the screen, and for the second time that night, he forgot how to breathe. “Cyrus, your story looks great,” he said.

“No, it doesn’t,” Cyrus argued, shaking his head. “The wording is all clunky, see? I need to fix it...somehow.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re the _only_ person who would think it’s bad. Here,” he said, taking the laptop out of Cyrus’s hands.

“What are you doing?” Cyrus questioned.

“Consider this an intervention,” TJ joked, closing out of Cyrus’s computer and shutting it down.

Cyrus sighed. “You’re probably right. We do have to get up pretty early, anyway.”

He grabbed the remote from where it sat on his chair, turning the volume down low until it was a soft hum in the background before sliding down in his bed.

“Night, Cyrus,” TJ said from beside him, voice so soft it was barely a level above a whisper.

“Night, Teej,” he said, closing his eyes, but sleep didn’t come. He was all too aware of TJ laying next to him, all too aware of the places they connected—hip, thigh, and knee. Their shoulders brushed together whenever either of them breathed, the warmth of TJ’s skin too close and radiating between them, and it was too hard for Cyrus to concentrate on anything but TJ, let alone shutting his mind off long enough to fall asleep.

It felt like an eternity later when TJ finally whispered, “Cyrus, are you awake?”

It took him a second to answer. “Yeah,” he said, voice hushed. “Can’t sleep.” He hoped he didn’t ask why—he’d rather not explain the weird nervous feeling that he got around TJ for reasons he _still_ didn’t understand, especially when it was keeping him as awake as it was.

He didn’t ask, instead sighing. “Me neither.”

There was a lull in the conversation until he asked, “Cyrus?”

His heart stilled at the question, his heart hopeful for words he wasn’t completely sure of. “Yeah?”

“What are you thankful for?”

The question was so unexpected that it took Cyrus a second to answer, but he didn’t have a hard time coming up with something to say. “Everything,” he smiled. “I’m thankful for my friends and family and having a place to sleep and food to eat and all that. But I’m also thankful for the baby taters at The Spoon and Mr. Spier’s ability to see the good in everything and the fact that I managed to pass my dance class back in eighth grade,” he said. The temptation to single TJ out on his list was very much there, because he _was_ grateful for TJ, but he didn’t know how he would react to it. “What about you?”

“I’m thankful for my mom, obviously,” he said, and Cyrus couldn’t help but notice the way he pointedly didn’t mention his dad. “I’m thankful for basketball and having a math tutor that actually helps, I guess.” He seemed to pause for a moment. “I’m grateful for you.”

The words made Cyrus’s heart speed up. “Really?” was the first thing out of his mouth, because a part of him couldn’t believe that TJ cared about him as much as Cyrus cared about TJ.

TJ glanced over at him, an arm folded behind his head. “Is that really so hard to believe?” he asked, humoring him.

“I don’t know. I guess not,” he said. “Sometimes, I’m just surprised that _you_ want to be friends with _me_.”

“Why is that so surprising?” TJ asked, and Cyrus thought he could detect the hurt in his voice.

“Come on, TJ. You’re the captain of the _basketball team_. You’re cool. And I’m...well, not.”

“You’re the coolest person I know, Underdog,” TJ said, almost defensive. “If anything, it’s _me_ who should be surprised we’re friends.”

Cyrus looked over at him, smiling. He’d never been more convinced that he didn’t deserve TJ Kippen until that particular moment. “That’s ridiculous, TJ.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” Cyrus argued. “You’re a _great_ friend. You’re one of my best friends, actually.”

“I am?” TJ asked. Even in the dim light, Cyrus was able to see the confusion on his face drawing his eyebrows together.

“Is that really so hard to believe?” Cyrus teased. Pause. “Sometimes, I tend to fade to the background when it comes to my friends and their problems, but with you, it doesn’t feel like that. You make me feel...seen.”

There was another pause. “I do see you,” TJ said. “It’s hard _not_ to.”

Cyrus didn’t say anything, his heartbeat in his throat. He was scared of the words he’d said and the ones hidden in the depths of his subconsciousness, just waiting to be discovered. “I guess we’re lucky to have each other,” he said after a moment.

“Yeah,” TJ said. “We are.”

“I’m grateful for you, too,” Cyrus said, nearly whispering the words.

TJ shifted his eyes towards him, smiling. “Goodnight, Cy.”

“Night, Teej.”

It didn’t take Cyrus long to fall asleep after that, exhaustion taking its toll from the past hour of talking to TJ. He couldn’t help but think that their conversation was only something that could’ve happened while they were both on the brink of sleep. But a part of him knew that wasn’t true, because no matter what, him and TJ had always been able to talk to each other, and hopefully always would be.


	14. Chapter 14

It was around 2:15 in the morning when their alarm went off, and as soon as Cyrus shut it off, TJ rolled over on his side. “Come on, TJ, we have to get up,” Cyrus said, halfheartedly shaking his shoulders, but he sounded even more tired than TJ felt.

“Do we have to?” he groaned. His voice was groggy with sleep, eyes aching with the hardened edges of exhaustion. Getting up right now was the _last_ thing he wanted to do.

“Kind of,” Cyrus sighed. The bed moved as he sat up, and a thud landed on the floor that TJ presumed to be Cyrus, but he was too tired to bother checking. “Come on, get _up_ , TJ.”

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled.

He heard Cyrus sigh again. “Fine,” he said. “I’m going to get ready, and by the time I get back, you _better_ be up.” He was trying to sound menacing, but the very notion of it made TJ snort. Cyrus was the _least_ intimidating person he knew; he was pretty sure nothing he could do would change that.

“No promises,” TJ said. The truth was that he’d had a hard time falling asleep, even after his conversation with Cyrus. Correction— _especially_ after his conversation with Cyrus. He kept replaying everything they’d said on a loop, and the more he did, the more he could feel himself physically falling for him. It was a vicious cycle, one TJ wanted more than anything to break.

Cyrus came back to his room fifteen minutes later, but to TJ, it only felt like five. “Come on, TJ. You have to get up.” TJ threw an arm over his eyes, like that would shield him from Cyrus’s persistent attempts to get him up. “Would it help if I gave you this?” he asked.

TJ moved his arm, squinting at Cyrus—he was holding out what seemed to be a thermos of coffee and a protein bar. “Are you trying to bribe me?” he asked.

“ _Maybe_...,” Cyrus said.

TJ took the thermos and protein bar from his hands. “Just checking,” he said. With a groan, he stood up—his body still felt like it’d been chiseled out of tiredness and a lack of energy, but he knew there was no point in trying to fall back asleep. Cyrus was too persistent to let _that_ happen, and TJ was all too aware of that fact to defy him. “All right, let me get ready,” he sighed.

“Yay,” Cyrus beamed. “I’ll go heat up the car.” He walked out of the room, consequently leaving TJ alone.

Slowly, TJ went through the motions of getting dressed, throwing on his jeans and his favorite black sweatshirt. He didn’t bother fussing with his hair the way he usually did, instead just combing through it once before letting it run free.

When he went out to the car, Cyrus was already sitting in the driver’s seat, smiling at TJ. “What?” TJ laughed.

“Nothing, it’s just...I’ve never seen your hair without gel in it before,” Cyrus said.

He looked away, busying himself with ripping open his protein bar. “It didn’t have gel in it last night,” he said. After Cyrus had dumped about half a bottle of soap in his hair, pretty much all of it had disappeared down the drain when he’d washed it in the sink.

“I know. But I’m just now noticing it,” he said, a soft smile on his face.

The comment made TJ feel more nervous and embarrassed than he knew he had any right to be. He shoved half the protein bar in his mouth, partially because he was _really_ hungry (probably _too_ hungry for someone who’d just eaten Thanksgiving dinner the afternoon before) and partially because he was afraid of what he’d say otherwise.

Like last night, for example—TJ had practically all but admitted his feelings for him, though luckily, Cyrus hadn’t seemed to notice. Either TJ overthought everything he said around him or Cyrus was too oblivious to realize the meaning behind his words. _Maybe it’s a little bit of both_ , TJ mused, allowing himself to glance at the other boy.

“Are you ready to go?” Cyrus asked, taking a drink from his own thermos. TJ couldn’t help but smile at how carefully he blew on it, like he was afraid it’d burn him at any second given the opportunity.

TJ finished up his protein bar before leaning back against the seat and closing his eyes. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said.

Together, they drove to the Shadyside Mall, silent except for the low radio volume Cyrus had on to hum along to on the drive. TJ just laid back in his seat, pretending to rest his eyes even though he was just listening to Cyrus quietly singing to himself and trying not to smile at him for it. _You’re_ really _not making this whole having feelings for you thing easy_ , he thought to himself, opening an eye just in time to see Cyrus badly dancing along to the song playing

When they finally reached the mall, Cyrus switched the car off and nudged him. “We’re here,” he said.

TJ opened his eyes, blinking rapidly a couple times even though he’d never really been asleep in the first place. “I guess we better go before Buffy gets mad at us for being late,” he joked.

“ _That_ would be Andi,” Cyrus smiled. They both got out of the car, slamming their doors shut as they began walking towards the mall entrance. “On second thought, it’d probably both of them. Neither of them are the _best_ when it comes to waiting on people.”

TJ laughed as they reached the doors, both of them automatically sliding open to let them through. He’d only ever been to the mall a few times before, mostly to hang out at the food court with his basketball buddies and to look at sports stuff, but it was always the same every time he came. Dozens of stores were scattered strategically around the building, sporting advertisements and clothing sales in the windows while shoppers crowded the space in between, carts spilling over with stuff. The only thing that stood out to him as different was the amount of twinkle lights adorning every square foot of the place; that was _definitely_ new.

Somewhere in the mess of stores and people, he could see all of Cyrus’s friends standing together, clearly waiting for them. “There they are!” Walker exclaimed, pointing in their direction. Trying not to think too much about it, TJ grabbed Cyrus’s sleeve and pushed through a crowd of people to get to them, letting go once they made it to their destination.

“Sorry, we had some problems waking up,” Cyrus said apologetically. “Well,  _TJ_ did, anyway. I had to bribe him just to get him out of bed.”

TJ rolled his eyes as they all laughed in amusement, not bothering to comment that it was really _Cyrus’s_ fault he hadn’t gotten much sleep. He was pretty sure he’d spend forever talking to Cyrus if given the opportunity, though, again, he decided it’d _probably_ be better to keep those thoughts to himself. “Well, on behalf of my stomach, thanks for the bribe,” TJ said dryly.

“All right, we’re running fifteen minutes behind schedule,” Andi said once everyone’s laughter died out again. “That leaves us with less than _two_ hours to get our shopping done.”

“Are we all walking around together or splitting into pairs?” Jonah asked, glancing at Buffy and smiling. TJ had to look away—they were so in love, it was almost sickening. (Plus he had the sinking feeling that he looked at Cyrus in a _much_ too similar way.)

“Were you _not_ listening the first three times I explained it?” Andi said exasperatedly, crossing her arms. “We’re doing _pairs_ so that way we can cover more ground.”

Jonah grinned. “Well, in _that_ case, I call Buffy!”

“Who else would you have picked?” Buffy said, rolling her eyes, but it was in amusement instead of her usual annoyance. “Andi and Walker are definitely pairing up, and it’s _obvious_ Cyrus and TJ are going together.”

The comment made TJ’s face burn, not even letting himself spare a glance at Cyrus to see if he was wearing a similar expression. “Don’t ruin this for me,” Jonah whispered to her. “Anyway, what’s the plan after we’re done shopping?”

“If you’d been paying attention, you’d know that we’re meeting at the food court at five for breakfast,” she said, huffing an annoyed sigh. “I’ll text everyone a reminder before then, so make sure to have your phone handy.” She glared in Cyrus’s direction.

“Why are you looking at me?” Cyrus asked, voice something near hurt, and TJ resisted the urge to smile at how adorable he managed to be even when he was upset.

“Cyrus, you’re _notorious_ for losing your phone battery. I’m pretty sure you waste half of it taking selfies,” Buffy said.

“Not true!” he exclaimed. Everyone gave him doubtful looks, including TJ—he’d witnessed him on his selfie tirades enough times before to know it was true. “All right, fine! I _promise_ to keep my battery up, okay?” He paused before adding, “And if all else fails, I’ll just use TJ’s phone.”

TJ knew he’d gladly give up his phone for Cyrus to use, whether it be for texting his friends about what time to meet up for breakfast or for taking the silliest selfies imaginable. “Works for me,” he said, shoulders lifting in a careful tilt that was meant to resemble a shrug.

Andi seemed to accept this with a nod of her head and nothing more. “All right, everyone, disperse!” she said. Immediately, they all got in their pairs (though this wasn’t much of an issue since they’d all been standing next to their partners, anyway.)

Once everyone else left, Cyrus and TJ began wandering through the store, weaving in and out of a sea of people. “So, who are you buying presents for?” TJ asked as they walked around aimlessly.

“Just my friends,” Cyrus answered. “Jewish people don’t really do the gift-giving thing since it’s more of a Christmas tradition, but I like to get my friends something anyway.” A part of TJ wondered if he was included in the word _friends_. “What about you? Who are you getting presents for?” he asked.

He shrugged. “My mom,” he said. It wasn’t like there was anyone else in his life that he actually cared about, anyway, except Cyrus. He’d already been thinking about getting Cyrus something, too, but he wanted it to be a surprise, and besides, he didn’t want to make it awkward by mentioning that he was getting him something and make Cyrus feel obligated to return the sentiment.

Cyrus smiled, and TJ couldn’t help but think that his eyes resembled the twinkling lights surrounding them. “What did you have in mind?” he asked.

TJ had to admit, he was kind of stumped for present ideas at the moment, but it wasn’t really _his_ fault; he’d been so busy lately that he’d hardly had time to think about it. “I haven’t figured it out yet,” he said sheepishly.

“Does she have any hobbies?”

He thought for a moment; his mom spent more time working and taking care of him more than anything else, but once in a while, she had a little free time. “She likes making crafts sometimes. I usually get her candles or something like that every year. She doesn’t really like anything fancy.”

“A simple woman. I can respect that,” Cyrus said. TJ snorted as they rounded a corner, still roaming the mall. “I already have a list of everything I need to buy. New paintbrushes for Walker, a complete set of washi tape for Andi Shack, vinyl records of Jonah’s favorite band, and some new sporting equipment for Buffy.”

TJ smiled, ignoring the pang of disappointment he felt at not hearing his own name. “Then let’s get started,” he said.

Together, they found the records store, a dimly-lit building with rows upon rows of albums lining the walls. Apparently, the records Jonah had wanted were too obscure to be found at the Red Rooster, so naturally, Cyrus had had to make the trip here to find them. Being a fan of vinyl himself, TJ helped Cyrus get what he was looking for before they left the store.

Next on Cyrus’s list was the craft store, which luckily wasn’t too far from where they’d bought Jonah’s records. Just stepping inside felt like TJ was entering a labyrinth of fabric and flower arrangements. It took a while of wandering through the store (and nearly losing Cyrus several times) to find Andi’s washi tape and Walker’s paintbrushes. “Hey, look what else I found!” he said, rummaging through a row of items on the other end of the aisle. TJ gave him an inquisitive look until he produced a package of some sort, holding it out for him to look at. It was a candle-making kit, and it only took TJ a second to realize it was meant for his mom. “Maybe she’d like this? You _did_ say she liked crafts and candles, _and_ it fits the criteria you gave me.”

TJ smiled, taking the package out of his hands. There was no doubt in his mind that his mom would appreciate the gift, plus it was at least a _slight_ variation from what he usually got her. “Yeah, great idea. Thanks, Cy.”

Cyrus beamed, fiddling with the price tag on Andi’s present. “Glad I could be of help.”

As they were about to leave the store, shopping bags swinging from their fingertips, Cyrus stopped near the entrance, staring at something in the distance. “What’s wrong?” TJ frowned. He glanced in the direction that Cyrus was fixated on, but all he saw was a rack of matching T-shirts. They all had different sayings, one of them being “I’m with stupid” and a paired one next to it that said “I’m stupid.” They were obviously meant for couples, but that didn’t do much to explain why Cyrus looked so sad over them. Weird.

Cyrus seemed to snap out of his daze, shaking his head. “It’s nothing,” he said. There was a wistful smile on his face, like he was lost in the fog of an old memory. “It’s stupid.”

TJ frowned even more; he was pretty sure _nothing_ in relation to Cyrus could ever be stupid, no matter how much Cyrus seemed to think so. “It’s not stupid if you’re upset about it,” he said.

“No, I promise, it _is_ stupid,” Cyrus said. “Besides, it was a long time ago.”

“Do you...want to talk about it?” TJ asked. There was a pull in his chest, one that had always been there when it came to Cyrus, one that wanted more than anything to help him.

Cyrus shrugged like it didn’t mean anything to him, but TJ knew all too well that it did. “I was just remembering how back in middle school, Jonah and I had these matching jackets, but he didn’t want to wear them on the same day so we didn’t look like ‘a couple of dorks,’” Cyrus explained. He sighed, turning away from the shirts and looking at TJ. “I told you it was dumb.”

“No, it’s not,” TJ said, without a shadow of a doubt. “It sounds like it meant a lot to you.”

“It did,” Cyrus said wistfully. Then he shrugged again. “But it was a long time ago. I’m over it.”

TJ frowned, eyebrows surely furrowed; it didn’t _sound_ like he was over it, but he decided to let it go for now, taking one last glance at the rack of T-shirts before turning back to Cyrus. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah, let’s go,” Cyrus smiled.

Together, they left the store, TJ yawning as they began walking around again. He lifted his free hand to his eyes, rubbing so hard that he nearly saw stars. “Hey, we’ve been at this for over an hour, and you’re _clearly_ still tired,” Cyrus said. “Why don’t we go get some coffee or something?”

Even though TJ already had a cup of coffee pumping in his bloodstream (one that had _also_ deemed to be ineffective), he wasn’t about to reject Cyrus’s offer. He wasn’t sure there’d ever be a day that he’d refuse an opportunity to spend more time with Cyrus. “Good idea,” he said. He tried to ignore how it felt like he’d been asked out on a date, forcing it to the back of his mind as they made their way to the coffee shop across the mall.

When they walked in the store, the room was cram-packed with people, the line to get coffee nearly wrapping around the whole shop. “You sure you don’t mind waiting?” TJ asked. He could already tell that they were going to be in line for a _ridiculous_ amount of time, and he knew Cyrus wasn’t exactly the most _patient_ person.

“No, it’s fine,” Cyrus smiled, but from the way he was beginning to fidget, TJ was aware of how restless the whole thing made him.

“So, what else do you have left to get?” TJ asked. Maybe talking would distract him from focusing on the annoyingly-long wait they had ahead of them.

Cyrus beamed like he’d been waiting for him to ask. “Just Buffy’s sneakers,” he said. “Well, _that_ and your present, but I’m not telling you what that is.”

The surprised smile stretched across TJ’s face before he could even acknowledge it, so wide that it almost hurt. “You’re getting me a present?” he asked.

They shuffled a few inches in line. “Of course I am! Why, did you not want me to?” Cyrus asked. The worry lines immediately set in on his face, eyebrows pulled taut in the middle.

“ _No,_ it’s not that,” TJ said, shaking his head almost violently. “I just didn’t think _you’d_ want to.”

His eyebrows only seemed to furrow more, a frown curving at his lips. “Why not? I told you that you’re one of my best friends, remember?”

Not that he _needed_ the reminder. It was something he still hadn’t been able to get over from their late night conversation; he probably should’ve expected it, too, given how much time they spent together, but Cyrus already had so many friends. Why would he choose TJ to be one of his best ones? “I don’t know…,” he said, because in actuality, he didn’t. Cyrus had a way about him that always seemed to able to pull the truth from TJ, no matter what he thought otherwise. “I guess it’s because you’ve known your other friends a lot longer than me.”

“I mean, yeah, but that doesn’t matter,” Cyrus smiled. He knocked TJ with his shoulder, and TJ smiled back. “All that matters is that we’re friends. And since we’re friends, I’m getting you a present.” He glanced up at TJ with ploring eyes, and he sucked in a breath, busying himself with moving up in line instead of looking at Cyrus.

“That’s good,” TJ said, biting back the inevitable smile on his face. “Because I’m getting you a present, too.”

“You are?” Cyrus asked, voice full of surprise, even though it _really_ shouldn’t have been. “I’m warning you now, I’m _kind of_ impatient when it comes to getting gifts.”

TJ laughed. “Somehow, I’m not surprised,” he said. “You’re impatient about a lot of things.”

“What makes you say that?” Cyrus asked.

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes; Cyrus wasn’t that good at hiding his emotions, that was for sure. “Like whenever you order your food at The Spoon or when Mr. Spier goes on a ten minute tangent at the beginning of class and you want to work on your pages. You hate waiting on everything,” TJ snorted.

“No, I don’t,” Cyrus argued.

They moved forward again, finally near the front of the line. “Yes, you do. Know how I know? You always tap your foot when you’re being impatient. See? You’re even doing it right now,” he said, gesturing to the floor.

Cyrus glanced down, stopping self-consciously. “I didn’t even know that I did that. How did _you_ know?”

And even though TJ had already had a lurking suspicion, he knew he’d said too much. “I told you, Underdog,” he said, pretending to look at the menu. (He already knew what he wanted.) “I see you, remember?”

Before Cyrus could answer, the line surged forward again to let them at the front of the store, and by some miracle, TJ was saved from the conversation. “Hi, how can I help you?” the tired barista asked.

TJ listened to Cyrus rattle off his own order, making sure to memorize it in case it ever came up again. (He’d already weirded Cyrus out once today by showing just _how_ much he paid attention to him; what was another instance?) TJ tacked on his drink order once Cyrus was finished, giving the barista their names before waiting in line for their coffee. (TJ definitely did _not_ notice the way Cyrus went back to tapping his foot impatiently, choosing to ignore it while they waited for their drinks.)

Once their orders were made, they left the shop and began roaming around the mall until they found the sports store, walking aimlessly around the place while they drank their coffee. “So, how much longer until you’re back on the team?” Cyrus asked, taking a sip of his drink (some iced coffee concoction that TJ had never heard of.) He noticed they were passing a row of basketballs as he asked the question, figuring that was what had triggered the conversation topic.

TJ shrugged. At this point, he’d almost stopped keeping track. It wasn’t that he’d given up hope of getting back on the team, because his grades _were_ getting there (slowly but surely, anyway.) It just didn’t seem as important in comparison to...other things. “I’m suspended for one more game, at least, but it really depends on my math grade. I need to get it up to a C before they’ll let me back on the team,” he explained.

“What’s your grade right now?” Cyrus asked. TJ liked the way he always seemed so invested in their conversations, like he was absorbing every single word.

“C-minus,” TJ said. It was _definitely_ a step-up from the F he’d become so accustomed to over the past couple years, and he couldn’t be happier about the improvement. He guessed his math tutor was working after all, in an unexpected turn of events.

“That’s great, Teej!” Cyrus exclaimed. TJ nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. It burnt his tongue, but he didn’t really have it in himself to care all that much. “What’s wrong? You don’t seem happy,” he said.

“I am,” he said, and he actually _was_ , for once in his life, anyway. “It’s just...I don’t know. I guess I’ve finally figured out that basketball might not be the only thing out there for me, you know?” It had taken him long enough to realize, but with Cyrus’s help, he was slowly getting the hang of being an editor. He didn’t feel so stupid anymore; the old frustration didn’t bubble up in his chest as often as it used to (which had been a _lot_ , even for him.)

“Really?” Cyrus asked. They weaved in and out of one of the aisles, passing a bunch of soccer equipment as they continued making their rounds throughout the store. “What made you realize that?”

He smirked. “Well, _actually,_ my best friend was the one who told me basketball wasn’t the only thing I was good at.”

“Who’s your best friend? Do I know them?” Cyrus asked, that familiar pull of his eyebrows present, and TJ was pretty sure he’d never found him as endearing as he did in that moment.

“It’s you, Cyrus,” he said, the inevitability of a smile in his voice. “You’re the one who told me that.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Cyrus said, and really, TJ didn’t know why he was so surprised. He _really_ must’ve overestimated the amount of friends TJ had, which was pretty much only one. “I knew _that_ , but I didn’t think you considered me your best friend, too.”

He was right; Cyrus _was_ oblivious of TJ’s feelings for him. “Of course I do,” he said. “Did you think I was talking about one of those jerks on the basketball team?”

“I mean, I’d _hoped_ you weren’t. But I’m glad that you consider me your best friend,” Cyrus smiled.

“So am I,” TJ said. He met Cyrus’s eyes with an unwavering glance, lasting for all of two seconds before TJ was glancing away again, distracting himself with emptying his coffee cup (he was still fairly tired, but he wasn’t going to let _Cyrus_ know that anytime soon.)

It didn’t take long for them to find Buffy’s sneakers, ringing up the shoes before leaving the store. As they began wandering around aimlessly again, Cyrus pointed to an empty structure planted in the middle of the mall, a large rectangle with a curtain thrown across the front. “Look! A photo booth.”

TJ glanced at it unfazed, not really finding anything remarkable about a mall photo booth; he was pretty sure they were about a dime a dozen in shopping centers like this one. “What, have you never seen one before?” TJ snorted.

Cyrus shook his head seriously, even though TJ had been kidding. “There was one at my bar mitzvah party a few years ago, but I’m pretty sure Walker and Andi were the only ones who ended up using it.”

TJ stared at the photo booth for a moment. Before he even knew what he was doing, he was grabbing Cyrus by the arm. “Come on,” he said.

“Where are we going?” Cyrus asked. TJ tugged on his arm, dragging him towards the photo booth.

“We’re taking our picture,” he smiled. He didn’t let himself think about the whole thing too much, because he was pretty sure if he _did_ , the whole thing would completely be the death of him.

“Seriously? Hold on, I need to practice my facial expressions—”

“Cyrus, you’ll be fine,” he reassured. The longer they waited, the more TJ knew he’d fill his head with stupid fantasies of taking coupley pictures with Cyrus in the photo booth, and he wasn’t about to take any chances. He shoved a five-dollar bill in the machine, watching the slot eat it before pulling Cyrus into the cramped booth.

The screen on the photo booth began counting down from three, and immediately, Cyrus was panicking. “What do I do?” he questioned.

“Just smile for this one,” TJ said.

They both did so, the photo booth capturing the picture before counting down again. “Okay, what now?” Cyrus asked.

“Let’s do a silly one,” he suggested, settling on the dumbest pose he could think of. Again, it snapped the picture, showing them the outcome on the screen.

“We look really stupid in that one,” Cyrus laughed, looking at TJ. He was only inches away from his face due to the cramped space, making TJ suck in a breath.

“ _So_ stupid,” TJ said in agreement, eyes locking with Cyrus’s. There was a softness to his brown eyes that wasn’t normally there, usually being replaced by the worry or anticipation he was so often full of, and his face was relaxed instead of scrunched up the way it always was.

Before either of them could look away, the camera took their picture, the screen flashing an image of both of them staring at each other on the screen. “Oops, I guess we missed the last one,” Cyrus said sheepishly.

Something twisted in TJ’s chest, those familiar butterflies he seemed to get more and more nowadays making a home there. “Yeah.” His head was too wrapped up in what had just occurred between the two of them to say much else; there was no way that had actually happened, right?

He was proven wrong once they got out of the booth, their pictures ready in the slot outside of the machine. The knots only worsened from there, but Cyrus didn’t seem to notice, happily grabbing their end result and holding it between the two of them. “These look _really_ good.”

“Yeah, not bad for your first time,” TJ smiled. Cyrus held them out to him, but he shook his head. “Here, you keep them.”

“Really?” Cyrus asked with a smile.

“Of course. I mean, it _is_ your first photo booth experience. You should have it,” he said. He didn’t tell him the _other_ reason he had for giving them to Cyrus; he knew that if _he_ kept it, there was nothing stopping him from looking at the last picture whenever he had the chance. He didn’t need to fall _further_ into the never-ending hole he seemed to be digging himself when it came to Cyrus.

“Thanks, TJ,” he smiled. As soon as he said the words, TJ felt a buzz in his pocket. When he pulled out his phone, he saw it was a text from Andi, telling them to be at the food court.

“Let me guess,” TJ said, already knowing the answer. “Your phone died.”

Cyrus put his hands up in surrender. “Listen, it’s not _my_ fault that lady’s guide dog was so cute! I _had_ to get a picture. Or twelve.”

“You’re unbelievable,” TJ said, shaking his head, but he was smiling all the same. He wondered how Cyrus managed to get even more adorable than he already was. “All right, I guess we better get to the food court before Andi issues a missing person’s report.”

“Hey,” Cyrus said. “We’d have to be _ten_ minutes late for that to happen.” Both of them laughed as they began their trip to the food court, stopping at the restrooms on their way there.

As they arrived at their destination, TJ spotted Cyrus’s friends sitting at a table in the middle of the food court, already eating their breakfast. “Here, I’ll go get our food,” TJ offered. He figured he’d give him a moment to catch up with his friends; it _had_ been a couple hours since he’d talked to them, after all. For them, he was pretty sure that was like eternity. “What do you want?”

Once Cyrus gave him his order, TJ went to one of the fast food restaurants in the court and waited in line. It was when he was getting his breakfast that the girl in front of him dropped her change on the floor. Immediately, the coins spilled all over the ground, dispersing at TJ’s feet. “I’m sorry!” she said, squeaking out an apology. “I’m so clumsy.”

She bent down to pick up the scattered coins, TJ kneeling down next to her to help. Something about her was oddly familiar, and for some reason, irritating. “It’s no problem,” he said, doing his best to hide the trill of annoyance that would otherwise be in his voice. He gathered up the change in his hand, standing back up to give it to her. “Here.”

The girl scrambled to her feet, taking them from him graciously. “Thanks,” she said, putting them back in her purse. When she looked at him, a smile seemed to spread across her face, making TJ even more confused. “Hey, aren’t you Cyrus’s friend? The one that was at his house on Halloween?”

And _oh_. That was why she looked so familiar, why she made that scratchy feeling of annoyance ignite in his chest. The girl was _Iris_ , someone he’d spent a pathetic amount of time hoping he’d never see again. “Yeah,” he said, tone clipped. He didn’t even bother to hide his annoyance this time around, or maybe he just wasn’t able to.

The cashier handed TJ his food, and he took the tray, grateful for the distraction. He began to walk off, hoping that the conversation was over, but clearly, he had no such luck. Iris followed him with her own tray of breakfast, chipper and smiling. “You probably don’t remember me, but I was the pizza delivery girl. I’m Iris.”

The cruelest part of him wanted to say _yes_ , he didn’t remember her, but as much as he didn’t like Iris, he wasn’t _that_ awful of a person. At least, not anymore. “I remember,” he said, the memory constricting around his heart. “TJ.”

“Nice to officially meet you!” she smiled, and TJ resisted the urge to snort.

“Anyway, I better get back to my friends—” he said curtly, but she cut him off, looking at something several feet ahead of them.

“Is that Cyrus?” she exclaimed, and before TJ could say _no_ , she was walking away, leaving TJ alone in the middle of the food court with the itchy feeling of jealousy clawing at his chest. He followed behind her, feeling his mood sour more and more every second.

“Iris! I didn’t know you’d be here,” Cyrus smiled, face lighting up like a struck match. TJ _hated_ that he was so happy about seeing her, hated that he had to watch the whole thing happen at all.

“I was just doing some shopping! You know me, I can never turn down a good bargain,” she said. Her and Cyrus laughed, like it was a funny joke they were sharing.

TJ didn’t think it was funny in the least, all but slamming his tray down on the table as he sat down across from Cyrus. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him (well, everyone except Cyrus and Iris, anyway), but he didn’t care, silently fuming as he unwrapped his breakfast burrito.

“You should join us for breakfast!” Cyrus suggested, and TJ didn’t even have to look to know that he was smiling (which, in the grand scheme of things, might’ve been better for TJ; he had a feeling that looking at Cyrus in that moment would only worsen his already-sour mood.)

“Are you sure?” Iris asked. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

 _You are_ , TJ thought bitterly, taking a bite out of his burrito with a scowl.

“Of course I’m sure,” Cyrus smiled. “Right, guys?”

Everyone hummed in assent and nodded their heads. Well, everyone except TJ, that was—he’d been too busy scowling into his breakfast to do much talking. He glanced up to see everyone’s eyes on him, and he chewed as slowly as he could before swallowing. “Right,” TJ said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Cyrus frowned in the slightest, but TJ pretended not to notice. “Thanks,” Iris said, plopping her tray down next to Cyrus. Silently, TJ passed over his breakfast sandwich and hash browns without glancing up, focusing his gaze on anything but the two people in front of him.

Not too long after finishing his breakfast burrito, TJ took to stabbing a stray piece of tortilla with his fork. He figured it was better than spitting sarcastic remarks at everyone or paying attention to the conversation at hand; he wasn’t really in the mood for either. He knew it was stupid to be jealous over a middle school crush, but he couldn’t _help_ it. It was like he saw red whenever something threatened his relationship with Cyrus, whatever _that_ was.

TJ’s leftover tortilla had been stabbed to death by the time Iris got up and left, exchanging numbers with Cyrus before she did so. “Thanks for letting me hang out with you guys,” Iris said. TJ glanced up—she was practically beaming, and a quick look to the right told him that Cyrus was, too. The painful stab in his chest was almost overwhelming, and he looked away again. “Hopefully I’ll bump into you again soon,” she said, and TJ didn’t need to look to know that the comment was directed at Cyrus.

“I’ll see you later, Iris!” he exclaimed, pulling her in for a quick hug.

TJ dug his plastic fork so hard into his tray that it snapped, and he pretended not to notice when everyone looked at him. “Oops,” he said lamely, not even attempting to at least _sound_ apologetic.

He pretended not to watch, but out the corner of his eye, he could see the way Iris glanced back at Cyrus as she left, smile soft in a way that friends probably shouldn’t have been, in a way _TJ_ probably shouldn’t have been.

Then in the back of his head came the thought: _It’s probably a little too late for that, don’t you think?_

He tried his best to push the thought away, but the answer still managed to worm its way into his head.

_Yeah. Maybe it is._

* * *

It was in the middle of throwing his trash away that Cyrus was accosted by none other than Buffy and Andi. “Hey, guys, what’s up with you?” he asked.

“We were just about to ask you the same question,” Andi said.

“I’m actually doing _great_ , thanks for—”

Buffy shook her head, expression firm. “Not you! We’re asking what’s up with TJ.”

Cyrus frowned. “What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong with TJ,” he said. At least, he _thought_ so. Sure, he’d seemed a _little_ grumpy at breakfast, but he’d subdued this to the fact that he was tired and nothing more.

“Are you sure about that?” Buffy asked, face contorted in disbelief. “If you ask me, I’d say he was jealous.”

He glanced around as if TJ himself would hear, but then he remembered that he’d went to the bathroom with Jonah and Walker and sighed a breath of relief. Once the words registered, the furrow of Cyrus’s eyebrows deepened; he was getting more confused by the second. “Of who?”

Both of them shared an exasperated look, like it was obvious. “Of you and Iris!” Andi said.

The words were almost laughable, so absurd that Cyrus couldn’t even maintain his surprise. “ _Jealous_? Of me and Iris? No way, guys.”

“Come on, Cyrus,” Andi said. “He was acting _super_ weird during breakfast. He barely talked the entire time.”

“And the one time he did, it was to say something rude to Iris,” Buffy added.

Cyrus shook his head so hard, it was almost violent. There was _no_ way TJ was jealous of him...right? He shook his head again. Dwelling on it would only stir up Cyrus’s own confusing feelings for TJ, whatever they were. He wouldn’t let himself think about them long enough to figure _that_ out. “He was probably just feeling left out. There’s _no_ way he’d be jealous of _me_ ,” he said.

Buffy snorted, a clear sign that showed she didn’t believe him, not for a second. “Whatever you have to tell yourself,” she said.

* * *

Even on their drive back, Cyrus had trouble shaking his conversation with Andi and Buffy from his thoughts. They’d at least been right about one thing—TJ _had_ been acting weird, whether it was due to tiredness or something entirely different, he wasn’t sure. TJ wasn’t exactly the most _open_ person, and even if he trusted Cyrus more than others, he doubted that he’d tell him what was wrong if he asked.

It was about halfway on their drive to the Jackson Street Gym (apparently TJ had a morning shift) that Cyrus finally broke the silence between them. “So that was fun,” he said. A glance to the right told Cyrus that TJ was still staring broodily out the passenger’s side window the way he had been since he’d entered the car.

He was quiet for so long that Cyrus began to wonder if he was asleep. “Sure was,” he said after a while. Cyrus thought he detected a hint of sarcasm, but sometimes, it was hard to tell with TJ.

Cyrus brushed it off, making a left turn towards Shadyside. “Do you think your mom will like her present?” TJ had already said that she would, but at this point, he was grasping for straws, just _hoping_ that TJ would actually talk to him instead of giving him clipped answers.

TJ shrugged, still not looking away from the window, not that Cyrus expected much more. “Probably.”

Cyrus frowned. He hated this—hated having to walk on eggshells around TJ. It was a feeling that had long worn off on him since they’d first met, but sometimes, it made a guest appearance and crept back into him like a persistent uneasiness, one he sometimes felt would never leave him.

The rest of the ride was a quiet one, mostly due to TJ’s aversion to any sort of contact with the other boy. It wasn’t a sleepy kind of quiet like what they’d shared on their way to the mall—this was a distant sort of silence, one that asserted the notion that TJ was wrapped up in his own thoughts. Though he was used to it, Cyrus didn’t like being excluded or left out of the loop, and watching TJ shut him out the way he was doing now was reminiscent of that feeling.

It was when Cyrus dropped the other boy off at the Jackson Street Gym that he finally caught the expression on TJ’s face—the scowl there was perfectly stormy, perhaps even more sour than what it had been at breakfast. And a part of Cyrus couldn’t help but wonder if maybe— _just maybe_ —Andi and Buffy had been a little bit right.


	15. Chapter 15

It was exactly a week later when things finally started to restore to normalcy. It hadn’t taken Cyrus more than a couple dismissive thoughts after dropping TJ off to refute the idea that he actually _had_ been jealous of him and Iris. It was a _ridiculous_ idea, one that had, in good intentions, been crafted by his two best friends and planted in his head to stew. TJ _had_ been awfully tired that morning, so Cyrus put it down to his obvious exhaustion and left it at that (partially for his own sanity, but still.)

Today was a special day for two reasons—for one, they were having a birthday party in journalism, and two, it was TJ’s birthday (which may or may not have been related and may or may not have been at the hands of one Cyrus Goodman, but really, were the details all that important?) The party _had_ been scheduled for the following Monday, but Cyrus, being the ever-caring friend that he was, had asked Mr. Spier to move it up. And as it were, he had, leaving TJ completely and totally in the dark about the whole thing.

So there Cyrus was, practically bouncing on his heels in excitement as he waited for TJ to come into class, donning a colorful party hat and all. He could barely contain his enthusiasm over the whole thing—Cyrus was a firm believer in the magic of birthdays, and he _couldn’t_ just stand by and not try to make this one even more special for him. Besides, TJ was kind of in between friends at the moment, and for all Cyrus knew, he didn’t really have anyone to celebrate it with, so he was _more_ than willing to fill the position.

As if on cue, TJ walked through the door right as the bell rang, shouldering his books under one arm as he did so. The expression on his face would clearly be labelled as confusion if it were displayed in an art gallery, forehead wrinkled with lines and eyebrows scrunched together in the middle as he glanced at everyone in their party hats. Almost immediately, his eyes found Cyrus’s, some of the cloudy confusion being blinded out by the sudden light there, and Cyrus’s heart stuttered. 

“Hey,” TJ said, weaving in and out of classmates standing in his way and dropping his books on an empty desk. He was smiling, the curve of his lips doing funny things to Cyrus’s stomach that he didn’t let himself dwell on. “What’s going on?”

The rush of excitement rose up in Cyrus’s chest again, thrumming there like it was the blood pumping through his veins. “We’re having our end of the month birthday party!” Cyrus said. “I convinced Mr. Spier to have it a couple days early since it’s your birthday today.” When TJ didn’t answer right away, he began to panic. “It _is_ your birthday today, right? I knew I should’ve triple-checked—”

“Cyrus,” TJ laughed, cutting him off. “You’re right, it _is_ my birthday today. But how did you even find out?”

The relief in Cyrus’s chest was almost overwhelming, a gush of warmth that lightened the weight on his chest. “Did I mention I’m _really_ good friends with the secretary?” he asked.

TJ smiled, big and wide, and Cyrus was sure he’d never seen him so happy. “You didn’t have to do all of this for me.”

That wasn’t true, and Cyrus knew it, too. Besides it practically being his civic duty and all, he _owed_ this to TJ; for believing in him, even when it concerned the stupidest of things, for reassuring his dumb insecurities about every little thing, for being his...friend. Yeah. Friend.

“Of course I did,” Cyrus said, because it was easier than trying to voice the endless, confusing ramble in his head. “Now come on! Let’s go while we still have class time left.”

Together, they walked to the cafeteria, lagging behind the rest of the class with a slight bounce to their step and shoulders bumping against each other. Before they entered the cafeteria, Cyrus remembered what he’d been holding—a cone-shaped party hat he’d been reserving for TJ. “Oh, I almost forgot!” he said.

TJ’s eyebrows lifted up inquisitively. “Forgot what?”

Cyrus put a hand on his arm to stop him from walking. “This,” he smiled. He fumbled with the strap, nudging it under TJ’s chin and pulling it over his sweep of dark blonde hair. For a second, he wondered if it was stupid, if it was too much, but then TJ grinned, and Cyrus did, too. Overthinking really _would_ be his doom, it seemed, at least when it came to TJ.

When they walked inside, an assortment of cookies, chips, and other snacks were assorted on a long table in the front of the room. “Sorry we didn’t get you a cake,” Cyrus said apologetically. “The party _was_ supposed to be next week, but I convinced Mr. Spier to have it today so it’d be on your birthday.”

“Cyrus, don’t worry about it,” TJ said, gazing into his eyes. The look he gave Cyrus was so intense that he was intimidated into glancing away. “It’s _perfect_. Seriously, thank you.” For some reason, Cyrus’s heart caught at the words, breath hitching in a way that made him want his inhaler.

Before he could really think about it (not that he would’ve let himself anyway), TJ said, “Come on, Underdog. Let’s get some food while there’s still some left.”

Him and Cyrus got in line, each grabbing a stack of cookies before finding their usual table. As they did so, TJ wrapped an arm around Cyrus’s shoulders, consequently tugging him into his side. The warmth of TJ’s body seeped into his skin and made his limbs feel loose and jellified, like the prospect of TJ being so close to him had melted his body down to its bare essentials.

TJ pulled away once they sat down and Cyrus frowned at the loss of contact. He shook his head as if to dismiss himself of the thoughts; he was  _not_ going to overthink an arm around his shoulders. It was probably just bros being bros, no matter how much Cyrus wanted to read into it.

He shook his head again, hoping TJ wouldn’t think anything of it as he said, “So, did you get any cool gifts for your birthday?” He could currently feel his own gift weighing down in his pocket. Metaphorically speaking, anyway, since it wasn’t that heavy at all, but he could barely contain his excitement, which was probably what was _really_ burning a hole in his pocket.

“Not really,” TJ shrugged. “My mom and I aren’t too big on birthdays. Or gifts. She had to work before I even woke up this morning, so she just sent me a text.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and showed Cyrus the screen. _Happy birthday, TJ, I love you! Have a wonderful day_ , it said, accompanied by a gif of a cat in typical mom fashion.

Cyrus smiled at the message as TJ slid his phone back in his pocket. “It’s sweet that she sent you that!” he exclaimed.

TJ seemed a little embarrassed, a hint of a blush on his cheeks that didn’t go unnoticed by Cyrus. “Yeah, it is,” he smiled. “I mean, it’s something, at least. No one’s ever really made a big deal about my birthday before. Well, except for you, anyway.”

Cyrus couldn’t help the smile that took over his face, his chest roaring like a human bonfire. “I, uh, actually have something else for you,” he admitted. He wasn’t sure that it measured up to the _other_ surprise he had in store for him, but he at least hoped TJ would like it.

TJ raised his eyebrows. Cyrus had already done so much for him, much more than he deserved. The fact that he’d already gone out of his way to throw this party for him was more than he’d ever expected to get; how he could possibly top _this_ was beyond him.

He watched Cyrus pull out a small booklet he’d crafted out of a spectrum of colored construction paper, sliding it over to TJ. It was ordered neatly in a stack, little stick figures that Cyrus had very clearly drawn decorating each page. “It’s a coupon book!” Cyrus said.

TJ began flipping through it, a smile stretching across his face before he could even really acknowledge it. Every page had something different and thoughtful written on it, each one a nod to their friendship at some point or another. ( _Cyrus Goodman will watch ONE scary movie with TJ Kippen and NOT eat all the popcorn, Cyrus Goodman owes TJ Kippen ONE photo booth picture, Cyrus Goodman must get TJ Kippen his muffin of choice from the cafeteria,_ etc.) There was a noticeable lump growing in his throat, one he didn’t bother explaining away because he knew it was due to Cyrus and his seemingly endless kindness, especially to TJ.

“You hate it, don’t you? I mean, I know it’s definitely not like most gifts people get on their birthdays, but I hoped maybe—”

“Don’t,” TJ said, glancing up at him. “Don’t you dare put yourself down right now. Cyrus, this is…,” he trailed off, sucking in a breath. His heart felt like a birthday cake with Cyrus lighting up a row of candles right there in his chest. “This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

A stunned look appeared on Cyrus’s face before it seemed to pass, laughing just the smallest bit in delighted surprise. “You can’t have met too many nice people then,” he joked.

TJ laughed (thought it was half a scoff, really.) Leave it to Cyrus Goodman to brush off something as amazing as what he’d just given him.

“What’s this supposed to be?” TJ asked as he flipped to another page. ( _Cyrus Goodman will try to play ONE game of basketball with TJ Kippen_.)

“Oh, that’s me lying on the ground contorted in pain after playing basketball with you,” Cyrus said. “I thought I’d portray my stick figures as accurately as possible.”

TJ laughed. “Dramatic much?” As he began flipping through the rest of Cyrus’s present, someone tapped his shoulder. A quick glance behind him told him that it was Mr. Spier, and immediately, TJ could feel his walls folding up again, shoulders tensing the way they hadn’t been since he’d come to class and seen Cyrus.

“What are you looking at?” Mr. Spier asked. His voice was full of so much curiosity that he might as well have been asking the answers to the seven wonders of the universe.

TJ closed the coupon book and set it down on the table, more of wanting to keep it between him and Cyrus rather than being embarrassed about it. “Nothing,” he said, trying and failing to sound casual about the whole thing. “Just a gift from Cyrus.”

“A gift, huh?” Spier asked, and TJ wanted nothing more than for him to leave them alone again. “That’s funny, actually.”

“How?”

Mr. Spier sat down on the table across from them, drumming his fingers against his knee, and TJ resisted the urge to huff in annoyance. “Because I came over here to give you a gift. I mean, it’s not a present in the _physical_ sense, but good news.”

He paused dramatically, TJ glancing at Cyrus and back to Mr. Spier and issuing him a look that told him to continue. He wasn’t really sure _what_ news he was referring to, but whatever it was, he just wanted to get it over with.

Mr. Spier cleared his throat, seeming to school himself into giving a speech he’d been rehearsing for a while. “Thanks to all your tutoring sessions _and_ your most recent math quiz, nice job on that, by the way, your grade’s risen up to a C! And since you’ve already been suspended for three games, that means you’re able to rejoin the team!”

TJ stared at him in shock, finally feeling something other than annoyance at Mr. Spier (possibly gratitude, but he didn’t want to get ahead of himself.) 

Cyrus was the first to speak. “Congratulations, TJ!” he smiled, but it was all wrong. His eyebrows were drawn in the middle like he was hurt, the smile on his face quite not reaching his eyes.

It took TJ a second to realize why when Mr. Spier said, “I guess this means you’ll be leaving us soon then, huh? I’ll be sure to make arrangements to get a new editor…”

And _oh_ . That was why Cyrus looked so upset. And if he was being honest, a part of him felt the same way. Shockingly enough, he didn’t _want_ to leave journalism. He liked the class, liked how upon recent weeks he’d felt like he’d finally been breaking ground and improving, just like Cyrus had said he would. And most importantly, _he didn’t want to leave Cyrus_.

TJ leaned back in his chair and glanced between the two of them before his eyes landed on Mr. Spier with a careful diligence. The choice between staying and leaving was almost too easy—only _one_ of those options fully guaranteed a Cyrus Goodman. What was he going to do? Say _no_ to _that_? “No need,” he said finally. “I’m staying.”

“Really?” Cyrus asked, and the surprise in his voice almost threatened to tear at TJ’s heart. How did he not see how obvious the choice had been? Cyrus really _could_ be oblivious—well, at least when it came to seeing how much other people cared about him, that was.

“Yeah,” TJ grinned. He spared Mr. Spier a glance, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of admitting he’d been wrong, but also seeing no other option. “I guess you were right all along, Mr. Spier.”

“I’m glad to hear it!” he said, clapping a hand on TJ’s shoulder. “By the way, I don’t think I’ve said happy birthday yet, so...happy birthday, TJ.”

“Thanks,” he said, surprising himself with the lack of snappy annoyance in his voice. He didn’t think he had it in him to be upset right now, not when he got to spend the rest of the year with Cyrus, laughing and talking and everything in between, and especially not when Cyrus was looking at him...well, like _that_.

TJ doubted Cyrus was even aware of the smile on his face, but TJ was. He made sure to memorize the look on his face, trying to burn it in his brain—maybe it would help ease the jealousy that always rose in his chest whenever the thought of him with Iris came to mind…

Thankfully, Cyrus was snapping him out of his thoughts before he could fall down _that_ rabbit hole for probably the hundredth time that week. It was when Mr. Spier was walking away that he finally asked, “You’re really not leaving? I don’t want you to stay because you feel obligated to or anything—”

He knew it was pretty much his own fault that Cyrus thought that, but still, Cyrus’s lack of faith in himself and his own self-doubt definitely played a part in it like it did with...well, most things. “Would you stop? I’m staying because I want to,” he said. And without thinking (because he _definitely_ hadn’t planned on blurting it out), he added, “Besides, I’m not letting go of you _that_ easy, Underdog.”

Cyrus smiled like he hadn't been expecting to. "Good," he said. "Because I'm not letting go of you that easy either."

* * *

On their daily walk back to their lockers, shoulders bumping together (not that _TJ_ was complaining), Cyrus asked, “So...you don’t have any plans after school or anything?”

TJ thought about it for a moment, even though he knew he didn’t have a single thing planned until his mom got home and that wouldn’t be for hours. Even if he _did_ have plans, he knew he probably would’ve found a way to cancel them if it meant spending even more time with Cyrus. “No. Why?” If the zing of excitement in his chest appeared on his face, he didn’t attempt to hide it for once, instead letting it play out like the broken record it was.

Cyrus pointed to the booklet in TJ’s hands, accidentally brushing his fingers as he did so. He pretended not to notice the way the other boy’s hand seemed to twitch at the gesture, the same way his own had seized up. “Flip to the back,” Cyrus instructed, a smile on his face.

TJ followed his suggestion and flipped to the last coupon in the book, heart pounding in a way that he knew it probably shouldn’t have been. The back page read, _Cyrus Goodman owes TJ Kippen one decent birthday_ , decorated with balloons and misshapen boxes that TJ supposed were presents. “Did you seriously think I’d let that be your only birthday party? Trust me, I have something _way_ better planned.”

It was the first in many moments he’d shared with Cyrus that TJ wondered if he’d be the death of him. “Oh, really?” he humored him, unable to restrain the full-blown smile on his face. “Like what?”

“You’ll see,” Cyrus said.

Ten minutes later, TJ found himself being dragged across town by none other than Cyrus Goodman, a warm hand circling his wrist. There was an uproar of butterflies in his stomach that had practically been there since the start of seventh period—ever since he’d found out that Cyrus had done pretty much the nicest thing _anyone’s_ done for him. It felt like he was at the top of a rollercoaster, climbing up, up, up until he was staring down the hill at the bottom right before the drop, all the nerves in his stomach building into a crescendo.

As soon as they were within reach of The Spoon, Cyrus tugged TJ to a stop. “Before we go in, I want you to close your eyes.”

TJ angled his head. "Why? We’re already here.”

Cyrus let out a sigh, an impatient one that was tiptoeing into near exasperation. “I want you to be surprised.”

“Cyrus, this whole _day_ has been a surprise.”

“Come on, _please_ , for me?”

He really had him there; for a second, TJ wondered if there was anything he _wouldn’t_ do for Cyrus before covering his eyes with his hands. Cyrus fumbled with opening the door and pushing TJ inside, to which TJ asked smirkingly, “Need any help?”

“No, I’ve got it,” Cyrus said, and from what TJ could tell, it was through gritted teeth. “ _Ow_!”

He whipped around, wondering if he should open his eyes or not before deciding against it. “Cyrus, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, sighing in familiar defeat. “Just ran into the glass. It happens all the time, trust me.” One of Cyrus’s hands made an appearance on his shoulder blade while the other seemed to yank the door open. TJ could feel himself being pushed through the entrance (albeit weakly, but still), as Cyrus said, “You can open your eyes now!”

Slowly, unsure of what to expect, TJ pried his fingers away from his face only to be greeted by all of Cyrus’s friends exclaiming, “Surprise!” Balloons were tied to the ends of the table and baskets of baby taters cluttered the surface, a rectangle of frosting, sprinkles, and candles in the middle that he supposed was his birthday cake. To say the least, TJ would have been less surprised if Mr. Spier told him that he’d gotten an A+ on his math exam.

Cyrus poked his hand, and the way TJ was buzzing, he might as well have been jolted with a live wire. “I thought I’d save the birthday cake for here. You know, with your real friends.” Cyrus was staring up at him, eyes gleaming like the beacon of hope TJ wished Cyrus would harbor for himself. Gazing into those brown eyes, TJ didn’t just _think_ Cyrus was going to be the death of him. At this point, he was sure of it.

“I…,” TJ trailed off. It was like when he’d walked into the room, a surge of electricity had burst and TJ had absorbed the shock. “Thank you.” It was all he could manage to say without sounding choked up, lame, or both.

Cyrus beamed, and TJ wondered if it was normal to want to kiss someone as much as he did right then. “Don’t mention it. Now, come on, let’s get the party started, shall we?”

They all crowded around the decorated table set up in the middle of the diner, TJ and Cyrus sitting across from Andi and Buffy with Walker and Jonah on the ends. “But before we do _that_ ,” Andi said, placing a square parcel wrapped in brown paper on the table, “we have a present for you!”

In retrospect, that might’ve been the biggest surprise of the whole day. TJ liked Cyrus’s friends, but figured they’d only accepted him as part of their group because of Cyrus, that they’d tolerated him at most. He never thought they’d actually cared about him enough to do _this_. “You guys didn’t have to get me anything,” TJ said.

“It’s your birthday. And since you’re Cyrus’s friend, you’re our friend, too,” Andi said. “Besides, it was mostly Cyrus’s idea.”

TJ’s eyelids somehow widened even further; he wondered if it was even possible to feel as loved as he did in that moment. It had to be a fluke or a cruel dream of sorts; there was _no_ way TJ actually had friends that cared about more than how many points he’d scored in the last basketball game.

But then they shoved the package towards him (with a brightly colored bow that TJ suspected was made from a copy of _The Grant Gazette_ —most likely Andi’s doing since she was the crafty one of the group) and he knew it had to be true. “Go ahead, open it,” Cyrus urged on from beside him, and TJ spared him a smile, taking the gift in his hands and carefully unwrapping the paper (because he had to admit, the bow was pretty cool.)

Underneath the paper were books: a copy of two horror novels that had to be from the last century. The titles tugged at his memory until it finally registered: _Frankenstein_ and _The Haunting of Hill House_ —the movies he’d seen with Cyrus before Halloween.

“Cyrus said you liked scary movies, so we hope this is okay,” Walker smiled.

“It’s, uh...it’s more than okay,” TJ said around the forming lump in his throat. He wanted to tell them he didn’t deserve this, any of it...the parties, the presents, and most of all, he didn’t deserve Cyrus or anything that came with him. “Thanks, guys. It, uh, really means a lot to me.” He glanced at Cyrus, only to find that he was already staring back.

“Okay, enough feelings,” Jonah laughed, Buffy rolling her eyes at him in a playful manner. Really, TJ couldn’t even blame him—he had more than reached his emotional quota, practically for the week, and even though it had grown a considerable amount since he’d met Cyrus, this was still stretching it uncomfortably beyond its limits.

“Yeah, good thinking,” TJ joked.

From there, they spent the rest of their time hanging out, stuffing themselves with baby taters and cake until they could barely move. (And if Cyrus wiped frosting from the corner of TJ’s mouth, he definitely did _not_ think about it for an unnecessarily long time.)

* * *

Andi and Walker were the first ones to leave, something about a last-minute art project they had to finish, and Jonah and Buffy followed soon after. Cyrus and TJ were left alone, walking down the sidewalk together to retrieve their cars from the school.

TJ had been quiet ever since they’d left the restaurant, the silence seeming to grow like a thick cloud between them. Finally, when Cyrus couldn’t take it anymore, he asked, “So, what are you thinking about?” The words came out too eager and urgent, and though he surely expected a look of alarm, TJ only cracked a smile, forehead wrinkling like he was deep in thought.

“It’s nothing, I guess,” TJ said. He didn’t meet Cyrus’s eyes, gaze fixated on a wad of chewing gum stuck to the sidewalk that he was trying to avoid.

Cyrus knocked his shoulder against TJ’s. “That sounds like avoidance if I’ve ever heard it,” he said, and this time, TJ snorted. _Hey, progress is progress!_ he thought. “Look, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I _will_ say that 99% of the time, talking actually helps.”

He waited, the silence seeming to echo between them. Whatever it was must’ve been _somewhat_ serious—TJ was normally so confrontational that seeing him clam up like this was almost unnerving.

When Cyrus had decided that TJ wasn’t going to answer, he said, “Just...I guess...ugh, I don’t know how to say this.” The sole of his shoes scraped the sidewalk as they continued walking.

“You don’t have to say it if you don’t want you. But, I mean, if you do, take your time. No need to feel rushed,” Cyrus said reassuringly. 

“‘But _that’s_ the problem!” TJ said, and the sudden outburst nearly sent Cyrus falling off the sidewalk. He grabbed Cyrus’s arm, making sure he was steady before letting go again. “Sorry...I didn’t mean to yell.”

Cyrus ignored the heart pounding in his throat, likely for more than one reason. “What exactly _is_ the problem, if you don’t mind me asking?”

TJ shrugged, the backpack hanging off one of his shoulders moving along with it. “Just...why are you so nice to me?”

The question took him by surprise. Whatever he’d been expecting, it definitely hadn’t been _that_. “What do you mean?”

“This has been...the _best_ day, Underdog, and it’s all because of you. I just don’t get _why_ you’d do all of this for me.”

Sometimes, Cyrus dared to believe that TJ had less faith in himself than even _Cyrus_ did, almost always when it involved understanding just how much Cyrus cared about him. “Because you’re TJ,” he finally said. “You deserve a great birthday, _of course_ I had to deliver. What kind of friend would I be if I hadn’t?”

Maybe it was just his imagination (which tended to run as freely and dramatically as it pleased), but TJ seemed to put another inch of space between them, arm tightening around the strap of his backpack. Cyrus continued, “If anything, I’m the one who should be asking _you_ that question.”

“How come?” TJ asked.

“TJ, you could be friends with literally _anyone_ you wanted. I mean, I’ve kind of noticed that you tend to be pretty hostile around most people. So...why me?”

Cyrus held his breath as TJ finally looked at him again, face set with the certainty and determination he seemed to wear like a crown. Or maybe a mask. “Because you’re Cyrus,” he answered, not even a hint of doubt in his voice, and Cyrus exhaled.

He didn’t really know what to make of TJ’s words—he knew what _he’d_ meant with his answer, but did that mean something different to TJ? Or did it mean the same thing, that—for all intents and purposes—he did those nice things because he wanted nothing more than to see TJ happy, even if it only made him crack the smallest of smiles?

He pushed the thoughts to the farthest corners of his mind. TJ always tended to make him overthink more than usual, make his normally clouded thoughts roll into a thunderstorm, and right now, all he wanted was to just walk next to him a little longer.


End file.
